Bring Me Flowers
by DesertedMirage
Summary: After college graduation, Terry starts to realize his true feelings for Max. But something seems to have silenced the once lively pink-haired girl he fell for...something more sinister than he could have imagined.
1. Bright Pink Roses

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman Beyond, any of the original characters, or any of the Batman franchise. I just love writing fanfiction for it.

**Reasoning:** I wanted to do something a little different. I believe writers can get comfortable sometimes, and that it's good to break out and try something new. I also just like to examine various scenarios and explore new points of view. While I'm known to take some liberties with the original BB plot in my other works, it's my intent to be true to the storyline laid out in the show with this particular piece, mainly the "Hooked Up" episode.

The story title is from the song "Bring Me Flowers" by Hope.

Enjoy and feel free to review and tell me your thoughts.

________________________

*Song Credit: "Ego Remix" by Beyonce and Kanye West.

* * *

"Bring Me Flowers"

_________

As Batman, I have to be a compassionate person, even if the feeling isn't mutual.

And I _did _care about my girlfriend, Dana. I was there watching her from overhead when I couldn't be there for our dates. I never enjoyed standing her up, but she seemed to think it became some sort of sick obsession, that I was hurting her for entertainment. I tried to convince her this wasn't true. Whenever I had the time (and often when I never had the _energy_) I planned elaborate dates. But she never forgot the _missed_ dates, no matter how many times I made up for them. I learned at age eighteen that making up dates isn't always enough. Dana finally broke it off with me in our senior year of high school, and we never really picked things back up. I wanted her to forget about me, so that I wouldn't be a pain to her any longer. And now that I'm in my twenties, I can say that I've moved on as well.

Maxine Gibson. She was smart and gorgeous, probably more than I would have admitted…back in high school, at least. Max was mostly a childhood friend who had the potential to become more. I could confide in her and trust her. After all, she held my greatest secret, and had never spilled it. We were only friends, no matter what I felt. I doubted she was attracted to me. To think otherwise on my part would have been a painful indulgence in wishful thinking. It wasn't supposed to be that easy to win over someone so perfect for me. She just had this maddeningly innate ability to reject any efforts to flirt or win her affections. An airy laugh, a seamless transition in conversation, or bringing up last Friday's missed date with Dana. Somehow, Max's methods of deflection were incredibly sexy, whether she knew it or not. Yes, she had a very alluring way of dodging Cupid's arrows. As a result, I found myself incapable to stop firing.

Enter college. Most of my friends scattered after the first year or so at Gotham University, including Max. She had easily made it into Harvard, and transferred in our second year. But I won't forget that day when I heard her name in roll call on the first day of my third year computer technology class at Gotham University. I almost stood in my seat in the lecture hall to see if it really was her. We caught up with one another in the hallway after class, and again in the library - later the student lounge. That was several months ago, and it's as though there never was a three-year gap in our friendship.

The deep brown eyes slid into my direction, lingering on me just long enough for me to catch the smirk on her lips. "And by 'date' you mean…?"

"You know _exactly_ what I mean, Max," I wanted to say aloud, and usually would have, but I wasn't going to let her win that easily today.

I pursued closely behind her, holding open the door of Gotham University's cafeteria. "I _mean_ the word humans like to use for events, items on a calendar - for example, today's date is Thursday, the twenty-second of April, Anno Domini twenty-forty-six--"

"Yeah, yeah, McGinnis," Max cracked a grin, but rolled her eyes.

I allowed a group to walk by, splitting between us, then smoothly returned to her side. She was power walking in short steps, hugging her laptop to her chest. I had to adjust my long strides to better match hers.

"So what's your point?" she quizzed with neutrality.

"I'm bored. I want something to do Friday…that is, unless it's a crime to ask if someone's busy for the weekend when it's already Thursday--"

"Terry," she truncated as we neared her car. "We're about to graduate _college_. We have final exams to study for. I'm you're closest friend, and you know I'm just telling you the truth."

"And I'm an ass for not making you something more," grunted a voice in the back of my head.

I sighed, adding just enough emotion to sound slightly hurt. "Slag, Max. You always bring up the time like we're pushing fifty or something."

At this, Max laughed musically, tossing her shoulder-length hair. It was still that strikingly rebellious, badass pink. I'd always joked with her that her hair color was much too bold for a computer nerd. And yet, she was always quick to bring up my past juvenile delinquent record and how it wasn't very roguish for once-bad-boy Terry McGinnis to be _Batman._

"Well I'm only never going to see you again after graduation." I snatched her keycard before she could slice it through the door of her brand new, maroon sports car.

"Hey--"

I hurdled the hood of the car to the passenger side, opened the door for her, then returned to the driver's side. Max stood with an eyebrow arched in disapproval.

"This is getting out of hand, McGinnis."

"I can't help it I like your car."

"While _you're_ the one who has the income to buy one for yourself?"

"Doesn't mean I want to."

"Oh, I forgot, you're a biker guy. So leave my car alone, please?"

"Not today. Hop in."

Max gave in without too much of an argument, although there was plenty of sighing and arm-crossing as I sped down the freeway. I knew that she was mostly pretending, though, because she had soon flicked on the radio to her favorite oldies station.

"Hah, I like this song!" I exclaimed while reaching to up the volume so much that it could be heard in the surrounding cars.

Max glanced over at me with a poorly executed annoyed expression. "Why am I not surprised?"

I frowned. "What?"

"Do you know what this song is about?"

"Um…exactly what the title says: a big ego."

Max laughed. "You know that's not what they're talking about."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Gibson."

"I'm just saying."

"Wait, this is my favorite part--" I cranked the volume further.

_"I got a big ego, I'm such a big ego  
__I got a big ego, she love my big ego  
So stroke my big ego  
I like to joke around a little bit but here we go  
Welcome to the wonderful world of go play the earl 'cause  
Everything I throw up, blow up  
Talking to the girl, she said, 'Know what? Grow up, you nasty'  
I don't understand why they trippin', if you asked me"_

Max looked at me as though I was insane for knowing all of the words to the rap.

"C'mon." I shrugged. "It's a catchy tune."

"You just like it because the rapper guy added his own gross part to an otherwise nice song."

"As if the lead singer chick doesn't come in and sing the same thing," I retorted before zipping by a bunch of cars that were moving much too slowly for my taste.

Max's small smile and lack of a reply belied that she couldn't debate my point.

"Touché," I mumbled.

"Please," she snickered. "You know what? In the meaning you're claiming for this song, it actually fits you perfectly." Max was chuckling.

"Hey--"

"C'mon. You know you're full of yourself," she highlighted as though this was fact. "College has gotten to your head."

"Like it hasn't for you too."

She smirked with a shrug. "I've always been grounded."

"Sounds like I'm not the only one with a big ego," I jabbed with a lopsided grin.

"You missed the exit for my street," Max veered.

"Took you longer than usual to catch that."

"I was too busy watching the road, since you haven't bothered to do so," she sighed. "Anyway, where are you taking me to this time? Not that cheesy taco place, I hope."

"I thought you liked cheesy tacos," I seized the opportunity.

Max stared dully, wagging her head at my joke.

"That was really corny. Like, record-breakingly corny...even for you."

"But no cornier than a taco shell," I continued.

She merely stared.

I shrugged innocently. "I couldn't resist. You had it coming," I snuck a goofy grin. "But seriously, what are you feeling like tonight? Pizza, filet mignon, lobster thermidor?"

Max was eyeing her cell phone, frowning in concentration.

"I'm feeling like calling my realtor and firing her, to be honest."

I winced. "Wow. What is it this time? Don't tell me she nearly set the apartment on fire in a showing again."

Max sighed with a wave of her hand. "No. She just blew a potential deal. Sent me a really long, drawn-out email apologizing and explaining what happened."

"So what happened?" I frowned, edging the car off of the freeway and onto an exit ramp.

"It doesn't matter. It's not like I've got enough for the place I want anyway."

"Ah, the house on Marigold Avenue." I nodded knowingly. Max was trying to sell her apartment and move somewhere with more space. She had packed up and left her childhood home shortly before we graduated, and had crashed with my family and I until she had found her latest apartment. Max and her family hadn't ever hit it off, and she eventually grew tired of their ignoring her and leaving her to live practically alone. Although her sister had asked her to stay, Max left home to be officially independent. But now that she had saved some money and was about to start her career, she was ready to go the next step and become a homeowner.

"Anyway," Max cleared her throat, reaching up to smooth her hair. "I've really gotta' get to this homework tonight, Ter, if I want to be present on graduation day."

"Isn't that your laptop you're holding?" I cocked my head.

"Terry."

"Look. I have homework too, Max. Who doesn't? You've been working too hard, and not just in school and with the housing-market drama. They're about to make you a manager at the company when you've been there for just a few months," I referenced her job at a Gotham-based software company.

"Yeah, well, us normal Gotham citizens have to move up the corporate ladder as opposed to being handed a million-dollar job on a silver platter, Batman."

"I guess you have a point," I said, then laughed to myself. "At least it has gotten you off my back about joining me as Batgirl." I was grinning, pulling my fingers through my dark hair.

Max chuckled, sending me an intelligent glance. "Whatever you say. I'm so over Batgirl, anyway," she crossed one leg over the other. "Now it's all about world domination."

"One computer geek at a time," I inserted mischievously.

"Um, have you forgotten we're graduating with the same major?" she accused, annoyed by my stab at her computer passion.

I sighed thoughtfully, deciding to make a confession. "You know I only did that to be around you."

Max merely laughed radiantly with that same enigmatic smile in her eyes.

* * *

The message came as a pleasant surprise in my voicemailbox.

"Terry, _great_ news! The Marigold Ave cottage has been reduced. I put in my offer and they accepted! It's move-in ready. All I need is to get my furniture over there and buy some paint. I wanna' get right to work! And, um…if you don't have any engagements with Gotham scum next Friday, you can make yourself useful and give me a hand with the heavy-lifting. I'll need your muscle-power."

I slowed my motorcycle to a stop after swinging into the cobblestone driveway of 1517 Marigold Avenue. Max's car was waiting, gleaming brilliantly in the bold sunshine.

The house was a bit on the granny side on its exterior, what with its vomit-green siding and teal roof. The shutters were a nasty retro yellow, and the front door a random orange. Max had toted me along with herself and her scatter-brained realtor when she had first scoped the place out. I hadn't wanted to burst her slaphappy bubble and tell her that I thought it looked like something a blind person had decorated, as Max hadn't seemed to notice any problem with the appearance. The interior was bare, though (thankfully), with white walls simply waiting for someone to paint them. (And hopefully in a much more tasteful scheme than what was on the outside.)

The moment I pulled off my helmet and perched it onto the seat behind me, the front door flung open and Max came flying down the steps, around the walkway, and out to the driveway, her purse flailing behind her. She threw her arms around my neck in a tight hug, then clutched my arm and dragged me to her car. I barely caught something in her flurry of excited babble about needing to go the hardware store to buy paint.

* * *

"What are your plans for this wall?" I asked.

Max strolled into the den from the kitchen, carrying a bowl of her favorite flavor of moose tracks ice cream in one hand. She stroked her chin in deep thought, staring at the wall bearing the fireplace. Two windows sat on either side, casting mellow afternoon sunlight into the bare space.

"Mmm. Red?" She waved the spoon nonchalantly.

My brow furrowed as I stood with a can of paint hanging on my fingers, my shirt splattered in caulk and white ceiling paint. We were both messy from painting the ceiling and caulking the walls, decked out in old pairs of jeans and t-shirts.

"Uh--"

"Actually, you know what?" Max switched gears.

"What?"

"Black." She thrust the bowl into my free hand, pacing over to the line of cans against the other wall.

"Black?" I blinked in surprise.

"Yeah, it's kind of more unpredictable. I mean, red is a little obvious. Everyone goes with red when they try to make a statement." Max was kneeling, busily prying open the black paint with a butter knife.

"Well, how about tan?" I advised lightly.

Max paused, then shook her head. "No… Don't you think that's a bit common, Ter?"

I shrugged, setting down the can of paint and plopping onto the floor. "I don't know. I personally think tan's a shway look for a den." I began to stir the ice cream, then took a taste.

"What are you doing to my ice cream?" Max was grimacing.

"It makes it have a soft-serve texture."

At first, Max looked as though she was about to voice her disgust, but tilted her head in curiosity. "That…actually sounds pretty good."

I smiled proudly. "Now if I could only convince you to go with tan walls…"

"Haha, nice try," Max chuckled as she carried the paint over and handed me a roller brush.

"Now wait a sec, I have an idea," I protested. "How about we try tan on one wall, then black on another."

"I don't know…" Max looked doubtful.

"_Or_, we could just do a black accent wall."

Max cast me a sideways glance and wide smile. "Make it a tan accent wall and you've got a deal."

I grinned. "Deal."

Max and I had to work faster as the days sailed by. She wanted to be all moved in before final exams, and before the day she had set to move out of her apartment, which had just been sold (much to her realtor's relief). We continued to clash over design ideas, and had eventually decided to call a truce and complete the den last (the accent wall idea hadn't worked out very well after all).

But once we'd worked through the other rooms, we at last had to face the den.

"So…any ideas?" Max inquired with a sigh as we both stood with arms folded, standing back-to-back and gazing at the walls.

"We could do stripes?"

"Horizontal or vertical?"

"Which do you prefer?"

Max considered. "Horizontal. Why not be different?"

I chuckled. "Alright, let's give it a try--"

I was interrupted by her cell phone singing in her pocket.

"Oh, it's my supervisor. Great. Let me take this call really quickly, Ter."

I nodded before Max jogged off for her bedroom. I sighed while stuffing my fists onto my sides. A rumble came from my own pocket just as I began to open the cans of black and tan paint.

"Talk to me," I spoke into the phone, recognizing the number with a sinking heart.

"Busy?"

"Sort of. Helping Max get moved in."

"Well, all's calm out there. Just called to say you can take tonight off," Bruce explained in his gruff voice. "There might be trouble tomorrow night, though. So don't make any plans."

"When do I ever?" I sighed after we'd ended our conversation.

I was passionate about my job as Gotham's hero. It was my escape from the stress of school; it was my duty which gave me purpose and joy, but it could be draining and lonely. I guess that's why I liked being around--

"Terry?"

"Yeah?" I turned as my thoughts jerked back to the moment.

Max peeped her head into the room, still holding her cell phone to one ear. "Hey, they need me to come in for a meeting so I'm gonna' shower really quickly and leave for the office. You can do whatever you want with the walls. Surprise me - maybe I'll like it." She flashed a smile.

I laughed. "Okay, but don't get your hopes up too much."

"Oh hello, yes Mrs. Conover, I'm still here," Max resumed her call, mouthing "thank you" to me before ducking back into her room.

While she was away, I took it upon myself to give a shot at finishing the den. I painted the walls black, then added a wide, continuous horizontal strip of tan. I helped myself to some cereal during breaks, and upon spotting the late hour on my watch, I left a note and hopped on my bike to grab us some dinner. When I returned with Chinese takeout, the driveway was still empty. I proceeded to stash the food into the fridge and clean up the painting materials. I lifted Max's few items of living room furniture into the room, then arranged some vases on the fireplace mantle. By now, it was dark, and slightly chilly in the northeastern climate. I switched on the electric fireplace and reclined with a weary sigh into the sofa. A minute later, I received a text from Max reading, "Sorry! B there in 10!"

I smiled calmly as I slid my phone back into my pocket and folded my arms behind my head.

I had begun to drift to sleep after a few minutes slipped by. I didn't realize I was dozing until I smelled food cooking. I frowned and opened my eyes. Sitting at the end of the couch, enjoying a bowl of egg drop soup, was Max. I watched her for a moment before I spoke.

"They were out of wonton, so I had to get egg drop."

Max turned, then wiped her mouth with a laugh as she accidentally slurped her soup.

"Terry, this room is…"

I cringed. "That bad, huh?"

"No! It's amazing!" she exclaimed animatedly. "I love it! And you cleaned up and everything - and grabbed some food too."

I sat up with an easy laugh.

"Well, I'm glad you like it."

"I really do," Max smiled sincerely. "Do you?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I mean, the black actually does look good, now that I think of it."

"Told you so," Max chuckled. "I'm joking. But seriously, thanks, Terry."

"No problem. Hey, is there any left for me?"

"No, I ate it all," Max rolled her eyes. "I heated yours up, but I didn't want to wake you."

"Doesn't matter," I shrugged as I rose for the kitchen, well-accustomed to napping with interruptions.

"Hey, can you bring my fortune cookie, please?"

"Sure," I called over my shoulder. After grabbing my tray of rice and sesame chicken, I re-joined Max in the den. I sat on the floor, leaning against the sofa. I tossed the fortune cookie up to her.

"Thanks. You know I only eat these because they're good, and not for the lame fortunes," Max shared indifferently.

I smiled lightly before stuffing a forkful of rice and chicken into my mouth. "But you still read them," I stated, barely coherently.

"Well, yeah… I guess. But just so I can learn Chinese," Max covered smoothly. "I mean, listen to how corny and universal this is: You have a secret admirer in waiting."

I munched thoughtfully, then turned to grin up at her. "Sounds pretty accurate to me."

"What does yours say?" Max sidetracked, setting aside her empty bowl of soup. I noticed as she rolled up the fortune and tossed it from hand to hand.

"Hmm, let's see," I mused as I cracked open my fortune cookie. I snickered. " 'You are a beautiful creature, but very jealous.' "

Instantly, Max was in a fit of laughter. I grumbled defensively.

"It's not that funny, y'know."

"I think it is."

"Way too easy," noted my conscience. I turned completely around to face her and smiled. "And do you also think it's _true_?"

I watched as Max's eyes drifted from the crumpled fortune paper in her hands to my face, then back to the fortune. The corner of her mouth was twitching to smile.

"I think fortunes are silly, and so do you." She lightly tossed the paper at my nose.

"Can't win 'em all," sighed my conscience.

I caught it and tossed it back. Max laughed.

After we'd finished eating, Max twisted to lay on her side while I remained seated on the floor, leaning against the couch. We watched the fire, talking lightly about school and her new house. After a while, Max became quiet, and I glanced back to see if she had fallen asleep. But she was awake, her head propped up on her arm, gazing absently at the fireplace. She looked weary and slightly concerned, though I wouldn't have known until I'd seen her face. Her voice hadn't given any of this away.

"How'd the meeting go?" I asked casually, and it took a moment for her eyes to leave the space she'd been staring into and focus into mine.

"Fine," she answered in an odd tone, almost an angry one. It felt as though she hadn't been talking to me, but someone else.

But Max just as soon sighed and donned a small smile. "Isn't Batman supposed to be out there?" She poked a finger toward the window.

I mirrored her smile. Maybe it was just the low lighting that had painted the shadows I'd seen in her eyes.

"Not tonight. The old guy gave me the night off."

"Wow," Max noted, impressed.

I nodded, then looked ahead again. I felt a gentle weight on my shoulder as Max rested her head there. I caught the herbal scent of her hair when she turned her head slightly.

"Then I guess the last place you'd want to spend a rare night like this is with your annoying sidekick and not with the guys or whatever."

I laughed softly at Max's bogus self-deprecation. "You're not my 'annoying sidekick,' and, to be honest, this is _exactly_ the place I'd like to be right now."

Neither of us said anymore for a long time.

"Do you ever feel like you've done something wrong?" she questioned softly from the silence.

"What do you mean?" I pressed.

Max breathed a sigh. "I don't know, to be honest. I guess…sometimes I feel like I'm starting life alone, or just…without support. Without encouragement."

I listened quietly. I knew Max was referencing her parents. I recalled Mr. and Mrs. Gibson to be very professional and demanding, before they divorced. They were always expecting much from their two daughters. Max had shared with me her story of their divorce, how it devastated the family. She had told me during a difficult time in her life, shortly after she learned I was Batman. Max had become addicted to a virtual reality machine created by one of Gotham's villains, Ira Billings (aka "Spellbinder") the former guidance counselor at Hamilton Hill High. I'd had to rescue her from the clutches of the machine, from her fantasy world. She told me that her family was together and paying attention to her, in the false world.

While I knew that Max looked back on her addiction with embarrassment and shame, I had a feeling that she still wished for a way to earn love and respect from her family.

Sometimes I felt powerless, despite my secret identity as Batman.

"Well, I think you did a kick-ass job, snagging this house and all," I voiced my opinion. "We've gotta' celebrate and give you a housewarming, complete with about fifty guests and tons of champagne."

Max's quiet laughter vibrated on my cheek. "You have got to be kidding me…" she said, then added after a long pause, "Thank you for helping me."

Both of us dozed off gradually when conversation ceased and questions disappeared from the realm of importance. The sun was illuminating the horizon when I came to, and Max's head was still on my shoulder, but she had folded her arms around my shoulders.

Carefully, I removed her arms and scooted her to lay more comfortably on the couch. She stirred and sighed. "Leaving?" she asked without opening her eyes.

"Not if you don't want me to."

Max began to fall back to sleep, but answered my question in a mumble, "I don't want you to."

I found myself smiling, and bent to kiss the forehead of my closest friend whom I knew I was in love with. Her pink hair was slightly tousled, but she was beautiful; she was Max.

I left for the kitchen to pour myself some cereal.

* * *

Max and I didn't see much of each other in the following weeks, mostly because of final exams, and both of us were working long hours on our respective jobs. But communication elevated from a few text messages or brief phone calls when graduation day finally arrived.

Once I'd pried myself away from my mom, Bruce, grandparents and little brother, Matt, I began to search for Max in the sea of guests and graduates. I pulled out my cell phone to message her, and her reply came only a short minute later. I squeezed through the thick crowd as my eyes scanned the screen.

"Hey McGinnis, what're you doing later?" jabbed a friend of mine, Taylor.

I shrugged with a light smile. "Goin' out to eat, man."

Taylor chuckled. "Well I'll catch you later, then. Congrats!"

I spoke with a few more familiar faces and fellow classmates as I followed the directions in Max's text. Eventually, I'd drifted away from the clump of people, and strolled through the parking lot. A few cars zoomed by, filled with excited laughter, air-horns, and thumping music.

"Hey McGinnis! Where are you off to?" giggled some girls in a passing sport utility vehicle clad in balloons and streamers.

I laughed. "Looking for Max! You seen her?"

The girls grinned understandingly, then pointed to the other end of the lot. "She's over there! See ya'!"

"See ya'," I waved, blushing a little as I turned into the direction they had pointed.

Sure enough, in a spot under a tall tree, sat the maroon car. I smiled as the door opened and Max slid out.

She tossed me the keys. I caught them in surprise.

"I think you've earned a joyride, McGinnis. Just make sure I get to drive home." Max beamed.

I pulled off my robe and hat with a relieved sigh as I steered the car down the highway. Underneath, I was clad in a standard white dress shirt, black tie and slacks. Max had lost her graduation robe as well, and wore an attractive, short black dress. Her hair was styled a little differently and pulled into the back in a ponytail.

"You look nice," I observed with a glance over.

Max smiled, adjusting her makeup in the mirror. "That's what you said on that mission I helped out with."

I furrowed my brow while reaching for the radio controls. "Which one?"

"Back in highschool. We had to go to that restaurant to help you find the kidnapped little girl with the telekinetic abilities."

I nodded as the memory returned afresh. "Oh yeah. And I meant it back then, too," I grinned.

Max chuckled, then turned up the volume.

"I thought you didn't like this song?" I noted in confusion.

"Terry," Max said, touching my shoulder and looking at me as though I was overlooking something crucial.

"Yeah?"

"We just graduated college!"

I returned the smile, glad to see Max so genuinely happy. "Yeah, crazy, huh? So where are we eating? Your choice."

Max laughed vibrantly.

"_Definitely_ Mexican. Something outrageously spicy."

"Mexican it is," I confirmed with a grin, zipping the car down the street.

* * *

After graduation came job interviews and more work as Batman. I was searching for work that didn't take up too much of my time, since so much of it was already devoted to protecting Gotham. Bruce got me connected with some business colleagues, and I soon landed a job as an intern with Wayne Enterprises, working in the new software development department. It wasn't anything too exciting, but it provided a sufficient distraction from Batman and put my college skills to use. I also got better access into the business world of Gotham as Terry McGinnis, and not just Batman.

I hadn't seen Max since we'd had dinner the night of graduation. She had been traveling and scoping out other job options, but kept me posted for the first month of the summer. Over time, the contact dwindled to less and less, but I was quick to remind myself that this was to be expected when we were both in transition.

Come early September, the latest I'd heard, Max was busy working her job at Jemison Inc., Wayne Enterprises' industry rival. She had decided to stay there when she was offered a promotion. She had accepted and moved up from her internship to vice president of marketing in one of the departments. I had received the news in text message form, but hadn't been able to reach her yet. Several times, I had considered driving out to her house, to drop by for a visit. But I kept telling myself to wait until the busy summer had first passed, for both of us to get settled into our new careers.

But finally, one day after getting home from the office, I was surprised to hear my landline phone ringing. I'd almost had the obsolete thing removed, since almost no one knew the number. Only bill collectors, telemarketers, family and Bruce knew my home phone number. But most of my calls were on my cell phone.

I plopped into the living room sofa in my bachelor's pad apartment, scooping up the phone.

"Hello?" I asked neutrally, not recognizing the number.

"Terry."

"Speaking," I responded, not sure if I recognized the voice or not.

Familiar laughter floated through the line, an effortless, melodic laugh.

"No need to be so formal with me, Terry."

A smile spread across my face. "Max, sorry! I didn't recognize your voice at first."

She chuckled again. "So how are you?"

"I'm…good," I replied, feeling a mixture of awkwardness and elation at hearing from her again. "Um, busy with work and stuff," I elaborated conversationally. "What about you?"

"Oh, the same," she answered indifferently. I noticed her voice was quieter, a little more serious, or maybe it was just the fact that we were having a phone conversation. "I hear we're rivals now."

I laughed, leaning my elbows onto my knees. I balanced the phone on my shoulder and loosened my tie.

"Yeah, I guess so. Did you get my e-card about your promotion?"

"I did. Thank you."

There was a lengthy pause. I tried to come up with something to say. I wanted to know all about her life after college, but couldn't think of a good way to jump-start my questioning. It felt like speaking with a best friend, yet a stranger, all at once.

"How's your family?" Max was first to break the ice.

"They're fine. The twip's liking high school."

Max laughed again.

I cleared my throat, tugging at my leather watch-band. "And, uh, Mom's still liking teaching. She's working with kindergarteners now."

"Oh, that's nice." Max sounded glad, but her voice held a distance. I wondered if she was busy, and began to feel a little dumb for rambling on. But she seemed content enough to listen to my updates.

"So…are you happy with your new job?" I ventured, offering her the floor.

"Very, yes," Max replied swiftly.

I nodded. "That's great." I took a deep breath and dragged my fingers through my hair. "So do you have plans for Thanksgiving?" I blurted randomly, immediately feeling stupid for asking a corny question about far-off holidays.

"Um…I don't really know yet," Max answered slowly. "Sorry Terry, can you hold on just a second?"

I sat up. "Oh sure, yeah."

The line was placed on hold for a few minutes, and I busied myself with putting some spaghetti on to boil. I'd taught myself a great deal about cooking over the years since I'd moved out from Mom's place.

"Hey Terry, I'm so sorry about that," Max sounded overly apologetic for simply putting me on hold.

I brushed it off with a gentle laugh. "No big, Max."

She hesitated. "Um…hey, do you go out for lunch?"

I paused before dumping the pasta into the boiling water. "Yeah, always."

"Really? Aren't our buildings only a block apart?"

"That they are."

"Do you…want to do lunch?" she proposed.

I felt my heart leaping. "Um, sure," I tried to sound professional. "What day are you thinking?"

"Anytime."

"How about tomorrow at, say, one o'clock?"

"Perfect."

"Great." I smiled.

Another pause hovered over the line.

"Well, um…it was great talking to you, Terry."

"Yeah, you too, Max. I'm glad you called." I bit my tongue again. Now _that_ sounded rude _and_ desperate, as though I had been bitter over my unreturned calls.

Max didn't seem to feel that way, and laughed quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Terry."

"Later."

I hardly got a wink of sleep that night, but when I did, I dreamed of seeing her again.

* * *

I spent much too much time in front of the mirror the next morning before leaving for the office. I wore my black hair combed back, more neatly, and I made sure to shave the stubble I'd allowed to grow. When I stepped off the elevator onto the thirtieth floor of Wayne Tower, I bypassed my usual stop in the kitchen nook for coffee and light chatting with my co-workers. I went straight for my office and immersed myself into my work schedule, to hasten the hours until one o'clock.

I scrolled through my inbox around noon, beginning to drum my fingers on the desktop as the hour neared. I sighed as I opened a mandatory chain-email from the supervisor of my department. My eyes scanned more than they should, but soon I began to slow down and concentrate on the words on the screen. It was a notice about a virus that had been spreading throughout the computer system in a fellow department of our software company. Apparently, it was suspected to be originating from an outside source, and we were warned to not open any emails from beyond the Wayne system, as well as to lock our computers at the end of each session, even if we were only leaving for a break.

I closed the email and opened the next one, a message containing local news headlines. I was skimming again, knowing I needed to get back to work. But I kept reading, first about how some of the Hamilton Hill High kids were on their way to the Scripps National Spelling Bee, then an article about Batman's surprise gift for an ailing teen in Gotham Children's Hospital (I had been glad to do it). But my forehead creased as I read the headline at the bottom of the list. Jemison Software, Wayne Software Enterprises' rival and the company Max worked for, had just promoted a new general manager of the sales division, and the name caught my eye.

"Donny Grasso…" I mumbled, trying to remember. I scratched my cheek and sat up in my seat. "Donny _Grasso_?"

The unpopular kid from highschool who'd nearly overdosed on Spellbinder's virtual reality simulator? I clicked on the article to view it in another window. I searched for Donny in the picture that appeared, looking out of habit for the mostly shaved head with a lock of blue hanging in the dead eyes. I blinked when it dawned on me that I _was _looking at him, standing in the middle of a lineup of men and women in business garb.

"No way," I whispered, baffled.

Donny was no longer the scrawny kid with weird hair and gangly limbs, but a tall, well-built man with clean-cut brown hair and a confident smile. He was shaking hands with an elderly man with white hair: old business tycoon Walter Jemison himself.

I remembered how Donny had been in Juvie after his gang wheedled Max into falling into Spellbinder's virtual reality trap at the VR Room.

"Bruce would love to hear about this…"

My phone rang on my desk, and my attention returned to my work.

* * *

I'd forgotten everything about viruses, Jemison Software and Donny Grasso when I walked into the café Max and I had agreed on through text messages. It was a small, intimate place on a corner of one of Gotham's busiest intersections. The sidewalk was packed with tourists and business personnel, and the traffic was heavy and noisy. I was already looking around, expecting to spot her at any given moment. I took a seat at a small table near a window overlooking the sidewalk. I debated removing the black jacket that completed my suit, not knowing if I was too formal for the occasion. I eventually decided to leave it, and continued to wait patiently (yeah, right) for Max.

I occupied myself with watching the people on the sidewalk for some time, then my focus gradually shifted to the customers in the restaurant. The counter was manned by teens taking the orders of the hungry line of clientele, and I found myself reminiscing on one of my first jobs as a pizza delivery boy when I was sixteen. I remembered in particular how Max had thought the job was "shway."

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry, Miss," someone was apologizing fervently from behind, preceding the loud crash of dishes onto the floor.

I turned to see a kid in a café uniform and cap, bending to gather the fallen dishes. But my gaze was locked onto the woman standing there, looking embarrassed. She was beautiful, wearing a white sundress, sunglasses and black leather boots. Her dark hair rested on her shoulders and she had a pretty, mysterious smile. It was when she smiled, however, that I realized who I was staring at.

"It's perfectly fine. Can I help you at all?" she was asking the teen, chewing her lip in concern.

"No, it's okay. I didn't get anything spilled on you, did I?"

She shook her head with a light smile, then looked up and noticed me. Her smile widened and she removed her sunglasses.

"Terry," she said happily when she'd walked over to embrace me. "It's so good to see you."

The rebellious pink hair was gone.


	2. Blue Morning Glories

_"Terry," she said happily when she'd walked over to embrace me. "It's so good to see you."_

_The rebellious pink hair was gone._

"Hey, yeah, you too, Max." I smiled as we parted. She was wearing a nice black skirt and a white trench coat. "Um, you look great."

Max smiled. "Oh, thank you. So do you."

I cleared my throat, sliding my hands into my pockets. "So um, I guess we should order."

Max nodded as we walked to the table. I pulled out her chair for her and helped her remove her coat. She sported a flattering sleeveless blouse underneath.

I took my seat with a casual sigh.

"I haven't been here before," Max noted as she looked around.

"Oh yeah? They've got amazing sandwiches, as well as a moose tracks milkshake that's pretty good," I informed with a chuckle.

She smiled and accepted the menu I handed her.

A waiter arrived to take our orders before we could say anymore, and I politely gestured for Max to go first.

"Just some fresh fruit and water with lemon for me, thanks," she said while passing along her menu. I wasn't sure if she had even taken a single glance at it.

"And you, sir?"

I looked up. "Oh, uh, how about the grilled chicken salad with tea to drink?" I switched my order at the last second (I was originally feeling like a greasy Philly cheesesteak and a sugary soda).

"I'll bring your drinks right out." The waiter rushed off.

Max was smiling at me with soundless laughter. I hadn't realized she was watching me as I ordered.

I grinned in response.

"So it's been forever. How is everything? Are you liking work and the new neighborhood?" I rattled my questions.

"I am." She nodded, still smiling lightly but staring out the window now. "How have your _two_ jobs been going?" she inquired while returning her eyes to me.

I chuckled and lifted my shoulders indifferently. "Pretty good."

"Only 'pretty' good?" Max arched an eyebrow.

"You know me too well," I laughed. "Mainly I'm just a little bored with my night job, if that doesn't sound too twisted."

Max shook her head. "No, it doesn't." she crossed one knee over the other, resting an elbow on the tabletop and touching the hair at the nape of her neck. "I always preferred it that way," she added thoughtfully. "I never wanted you to get hurt."

"No, you certainly didn't," I spoke quietly with a reminiscent smile. I studied her face when she was looking away. She was mostly the same, except for a new sort of blankness about her countenance that I couldn't quite define. Or maybe it was a seriousness? I certainly didn't want to call it weariness or a permanently drawn expression, not when she was so blatantly stunning and youthful. But there was something missing, or something that wasn't there before…something…sad. I shifted in my seat, and was about to compliment her new hair and possibly ask what had inspired the change, but the waiter arrived at the precise moment I opened my mouth.

"Water with lemon." He set down Max's glass, then stationed mine. "And tea. Your lunch should be out shortly."

When the waiter had left again, I sighed and stretched my arms a little, ignoring the tea I shouldn't have ordered (I hated the stuff).

"So how was your summer?"

"Oh, just busy," Max replied quickly, then reversed the question. "And yours?"

I cleared my throat. Maybe she was simply being courteous and giving me space to share details about my life before she filled me in on hers.

"Busy as well. Bruce had a bunch of people for me to meet, lots of schmoozing to do," I began to unfold as I played along.

Max nodded with a sip of her water, listening intently.

"Interviews, lunch dates, and then the night job. Things always get a bit crazier over the summer, since kids are out of school and take to the streets." I sighed. "I think the Jokerz were working overtime."

"Wow. So were there lots of new recruits?" Max asked, and I nodded. At least she was talking more now, although I would have much preferred to talk about _her_ than the Jokerz.

"Yeah, and I'm sure you've already guessed where from."

"Hamilton High." Max sighed.

"Yeah." I smirked.

"Too bad our school was and still is so crime-infested," she commented mournfully.

The food arrived, and conversation diminished and turned even more one-sided than before. We played the juvenile "sneak a look when he/she isn't looking" game, and laughed at ourselves whenever caught.

"Have any room for dessert today?" asked the waiter when he came to remove our dishes.

"Um, do you want anything, Max?" I offered her.

She smiled briefly and shook her head. "No, I'm full."

I glanced at her plate of barely-touched grapes and pineapple. "Off of five grapes and a pineapple ring?" debated my conscience.

"Me too, thanks," I declined to the waiter.

"Are we doing two separate checks, or…?" he asked.

"Separate," said Max.

"All on one," said I at the same time, and the waiter chuckled.

"Terry, it's fine, I can pay for mine--"

"I've got it, Max," I pulled out my card with a smile, handing it to the waiter before she could do anything about it.

"I wasn't meaning for you to pay for my lunch when I asked if we could meet up," Max apologized when the bill had been taken care of and we prepared to leave.

I assisted her with her coat. "I know you didn't, but I had already pre-meditated paying for both." I smiled playfully. "Don't worry, I wanted to."

"I should've guessed," she sighed, then cast me a gracious smile. "Thanks, though."

We walked to the exit and out onto the crowded city street-corner.

"Well, it was really great seeing you, Terry."

"Yeah, I had a good time," I agreed. I wished that I could add, "And it was great catching up with you." I chewed on my lower lip, sliding one hand into my pocket and pulling at my collar with the other. "So…"

Max was glancing around, tapping her fingers together. I was kicking at a crack in the concrete.

"Uh…" I fumbled for an approach.

"Are you busy tomorrow?" she asked suddenly, finally staring up at me.

I shook my head. She had beaten me to the punch, but I wasn't complaining.

"I'm never too busy for you, Max," I chuckled easily. "Same place and time?"

Max merely smiled slowly with a nod, then turned and disappeared into the bustle of sidewalk traffic.

Somehow, her smile had looked almost guilt-ridden when she began to turn and leave.

* * *

This time, Max was waiting at the same table, sipping on a glass of water. She was seated with her arms folded , hugging herself and wearing a stylish, light-blue sundress. Her attention was directed out the window, gazing distantly, and she didn't see me as I walked over.

"Hey," I greeted warmly, and Max looked up with a smile, her entire countenance transforming as if on cue.

"Hey, sorry I'm so early." She glanced at the empty space on my side of the table. "And sorry I didn't order your drink - I wasn't sure if you wanted tea again or--"

"Don't worry about it, Max," I waived her excessive apologies, smiling brightly as I took my seat. "And I don't really like tea anyway," I confessed with a mischievous grin.

Max laughed. "Oh okay." She scooted her chair a bit closer to the table, reaching up to coil a strand of brown hair behind her ear. "I _wondered_ why you ordered that…"

"Yeah, I was just being weird," I jested while shrugging off my business jacket and draping it on my chair.

Max and I shared a smile during the following pause, and I found myself feeling more at ease than I had the day before. Perhaps I had been expecting too much to think that we would automatically be back to our old comfort-level on a first meeting.

I hoped this time would be better, and so far, it was.

"So what are you ordering today?" Max asked as we opened our menus.

"Probably a steak fajita wrap," I mused as I studied the list of lunch items. "What about you?"

"Maybe a salad," she replied, and I glanced up to see her eyes on me, instead of the menu. She lifted her glass to her lips and shifted her focus to the counter.

"Hey guys, what can I get you to eat?" asked the waitress when she strolled over.

The lunch progressed smoothly, and while I didn't get much more than the routine vague answers and topic changes out of Max, I think we both enjoyed ourselves and dialogued more than the first time.

"I'm still going to pay you back, you know," Max promised as we made our way to the door once I had paid our tab.

I chuckled. "Okay then, but you've got to let me determine the method."

Max raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Let's change up the venue tomorrow and go see a movie," I ventured confidently despite my inner nervousness. "Unless you're not free tomorrow evening..." I hastily inserted when it dawned on me that I might have overstepped.

Max walked through the doorway after I'd pulled it open for her. She turned with a small frown, sweeping her hair from her eyes when a breeze rushed by.

"Oh, um…I don't know yet if I can--if I'll be free or not, I mean," she hesitated, looking at the ground.

I swallowed, trying to play it cool with a quick nod.

"Oh…of course. Yeah, I mean, it's fine." I tried to mask my disappointment, but my voice had cracked as though I was fourteen-years-old.

Max chewed her lip, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She seemed to be debating with herself. "Um…I can probably tell you for sure…just…once I look at my schedule and see…"

I turned to Max's hopeful gaze, the enigmatically beautiful dark eyes that were suddenly less guarded than before…

"Oh? That-that's fine," I stammered some more, now feeling like an idiot for behaving like a kid asking his dream girl to prom.

Max provided her answer that night, suprisingly. She called to tell me that she would be glad to go to the movies with me the next evening. I was happy because of the news, but also because of the joy I had heard in her voice.

* * *

**Thank you so much for the reviews and the warm welcome! That really means a lot to me and I'm grateful for the good reception of this piece. ShadowGoddess1, Kyoko Kasshu Minamino, RedSharkbait - thank you very much! **

**More is on its way.**


	3. White Dandelions

**So if you haven't already noticed, I'm using colors and flowers as the titles of each chapter. I try to use them to represent the theme/feel of the chapter, to enhance it. Usually I mean the general nature of the flower, as well as its color and appearance. I'll try to provide a link to a picture of the flower when they are on the rare and less well-known side.**

* * *

_Max provided her answer that night, surprisingly. She called to tell me that she would be glad to go to the movies with me the next evening. I was happy because of the news, but also because of the joy I had heard in her voice._

"What are you feeling like? Romance, comedy - romantic comedy?"

Max chuckled at my suggestions as we strolled up to the ticket booth of Gotham Theater. We'd both had a short workday, and decided to go to a four o'clock matinee and possibly do dinner afterwards.

"How about that action thriller that opened a few weeks ago? I'm feeling a little dangerous." She flashed me a grin. Her eyes sparkled with a new brightness, a joy that was the closest I had seen to the way she used to look always, before we had parted over the summer.

"Action thriller it is," I agreed with a smile of my own.

The theater was comfortably empty, as it was the middle of the week and ahead of the nighttime rush. Not many people had chosen to see our flick, and the room was vacant with the exception of a "passionate" young couple in the very back and a group of snickering teenage boys clumped in the front.

"How about a happy medium?" I chuckled over to Max as we slid into a row that wasn't quite in the back or front.

A loud giggle carried from the rear once we had taken our seats.

"Guess the mild PG rating should've clued me in on the audience," Max noted with an apologetic smile while twisting off the cap of her bottled water. I hadn't noticed exactly what she was wearing until now, but only that she was as lovely as always. Specifically, she was wearing an emerald green blouse and jeans, and casual flip-flops. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, exposing fully her pretty face.

It was as though she had opened up a little more, like a morning glory spanning out its petals at the break of dawn. She was more engaged and happier, I noticed. Although I was let-down by the slightly immature film halfway through, I was nonetheless glad to be spending the day with Max, and we made the movie fun by cracking quiet jokes at its corniness.

"So, um, guess we'll just meet up at the restaurant?" I asked as the credits rolled over the tune of heavy metal music.

"Oh, sure…" Max chewed her lip, looping her thumbs on her pockets as we walked out the exit doors and into the now stuffed hallways. "Actually…um, my car's been needing repair, so I took a cab here… Could I ride with you?"

I hesitated. "Well…you know I came on the bike tonight, so…"

"That's fine," she assured quickly with a grin.

"I thought you used to hate bikes," I laughed in amused surprise.

"That was a long time ago, Terry."

* * *

"I've been dying for steak all week," I groaned as we opened our menus at our booth in the steakhouse.

Max chuckled at me. "The steaks are pretty good here."

"Oh yeah? Have you had one before?"

She shook her head, edging her gaze away from me to the menu. "No, I'd just heard about it. I don't really eat meat anymore," she answered passively.

"Oh…wow, okay," I commented slowly. "_That's _unexpected," echoed my conscience. Max, a vegetarian? She used to eat everything from chicken to octopus.

"So what pushed you onto the vegetarian side?" I asked curiously.

"Oh, I was just thinking about it and.…" Max's answer trailed as her phone rang. She glanced at her purse beside her on the bench, chewing at her lip. "And I…" The phone continued to ring, and she made no moves to answer it. Finally, she cleared her throat. "Sorry, Ter, I should probably go take that."

I shrugged while pushing up the sleeves of my red button-down shirt. "Sure, no problem."

"Thanks - oh, and you can just order anything for me, you don't have to wait. I'll be back in a second."

I nodded as Max scooted off and left for the bathroom.

I scanned the menu, trying to make a selection. My eyes lit up when I saw Max's all-time favorite: Rattlesnake Pasta. But I would have to be sure to request that they leave off the chicken.

Max was gone for a few minutes, during which the waitress came to take the order. The food came out with speedy service while Max was still away, and I waited patiently for her return. It wasn't long before I spotted Max winding her way around the tables toward our booth.

"Sorry it took me so long," she sighed with a smile while taking her seat.

"No big. I hope you're hungry because their portion-sizes are huge here."

But my joking fell flat, and Max's joyful countenance had assumed another expression upon sight of her food.

I stared in confusion at the pronounced fear that washed over her features. She looked genuinely terrified as a fleeting shadow of dread passed through her widened eyes. The next moment, her face was deeply pained, much like the way she had looked at me when she walked away after our first lunch date two days prior. And then she was staring blankly, as though I wasn't even there across from her at the table. She swallowed tremendously and quickly slid out of her seat.

Before I could say a word, she had raced out of the building.

By the time I reached the door in pursuit of her, she was gone - swallowed by the thick evening sidewalk traffic. Each call I placed to her cell phone was unanswered. I left a voice message, texted her, and after waiting for fifteen minutes and receiving no word from her, I hopped on my motorcycle and sped to her house.

* * *

The street was silent and the Marigold Avenue cottage dark. I pulled up behind her in-need-of-repair convertible, strolling up to the door. I pressed my thumb into the doorbell. Seconds elapsed in silence. I pulled my hand through my hair with a sigh. There wasn't a sound from inside. I rang once again before I finally made up my mind to break in. Max had been so distraught - I had to check on her.

My lock pick worked quickly on the old-fashioned door. I stepped quietly into the foyer, where my eyes had to grow accustomed to the darkness.

"Max?" I called. "Max, are you in here? It's Terry."

I stepped through the first doorway leading to the den.

"Max?" I said again, but my voice faded into the quiet. My eyes roamed the walls. Something was different…it should have been darker than this in here. I reached for the lightswitch. In the den I had once painted black and tan for Max, I was suddenly surrounded in a colorless box of white. I turned my body in a circle, looking around and up. Everything was white now, the ceiling, the furniture, the adobe fireplace. All was white and void of anything remotely "Max." It wasn't as though the room was unappealing, but it just wasn't anything like the woman who occupied it.

I scratched my forehead and headed for the master bedroom. The door was open, and it too was empty…and white. Max and I had painted it green and maroon just months prior. I surveyed the other rooms, realizing I was seeing a pattern. Everything had been stripped of Max's signature flare for color, uniqueness and personality. And the entire house was impeccably clean and orderly. Max had always been organized, but it was as though she had known someone was coming to inspect the house, as though she was staging it for a showing to a potential buyer. And she hadn't ever mentioned moving…and especially not when she had only been there for a few months.

She wasn't home. I didn't know where she was or what to do. As I sat on my motorcycle in the driveway, trying to fathom what could be wrong, I finally pulled out my cell phone. This time, I called Bruce.

"Enjoying your off-night? If you're calling me, then I'd assume not."

I sighed. "It's Max. We went out to dinner and she just up and left. I called and called, but she never picked up. I'm at her place now and it's empty."

There was a pause.

"Did you say something to upset her?"

"Of course not. All I did was order her food while she was taking a call, and then she came back and looked at the plate and it was like she had seen a ghost. And then she just ran off. I don't get it…" I grumbled, beginning to panic and feel guilty now. It must have been something I'd done after all. I was the only one with her when she bolted. "What do I do, Bruce?"

"You calm down and wait until morning. If she still hasn't called you back, we'll take it from there. She'll probably come back home soon…" he hesitated. "Although her leaving so suddenly does sound odd."

"Exactly!"

"Are you sure you two didn't have some sort of argument or--"

"We were having a blast. I don't know what set her off."

"You mentioned that she was taking a call before she came back to the table."

"Yeah, but she didn't seem upset at first. It was only when she saw the food that she ran."

Bruce sighed. "Well, you've done all you can for now. I doubt she'll stay away long," he paused. "Are you going to stake out across from her house?"

"I'm tempted to," I muttered.

"Terry. Go home. Women can be complex. And you've got work tomorrow night and can't afford staying up all night tonight," he lectured, then his tone eased a little when he added, "I'll keep an eye out for her."

* * *

Needless to say, sleep didn't come easily for me in my own bed. I was up with my hand wrapped around my phone all night. When I did doze off, I would automatically wake myself up as though I had heard my phone ringing. When daylight arrived, my eyes were burning and I'd managed only a few hours of sleep. Bruce called as I dressed for work, asking if I'd heard from her and stating that he hadn't noticed anything strange from his all-seeing Batcomputer.

I left a couple of hours early for the office so that I could stop at the Marigold Avenue cottage on the way. Her maroon car was gone, this time. Had a mechanic towed it off? I parked my own black convertible on the street and jogged up to the front door. After two rings and waiting, I sighed and hurried back into my car. I sped toward downtown Gotham. But I wasn't on my way to Wayne Tower.

The Jemison Building was just a few stories shorter than Wayne Tower and had only been standing for a decade or so. I had met Walter Jemison, the owner of the incorporation, once while at a charity dinner with Bruce. That was back in my freshman year of college. Bruce and Jemison held a healthy competition against one another, and respected each other equally as businessmen and old acquaintances. Jemison's granddaughter, Lydia, had graduated from Hamilton Hill a year behind Max and I, and she and Max were still friends. She was the one who had helped Max land her job at Jemison Software back in college.

I swung my car into the employee lot, hoping security wouldn't coast by and catch me. I had gotten there so early that I doubted anyone would find me suspicious. I had called Max a few times that morning, without an answer still.

Just when my fatigued eyelids began to grow heavy, I saw a maroon car with early-morning sunlight reflecting off its windshield turning into the lot. I felt the relief strongly, but then the questions arrived, one of which being how her "broken down" car had gotten repaired so quickly…

The car parked a few spaces behind mine, and I watched it in the rear-view mirror. The driver's side door opened, then the passenger door.

Max stepped out from the driver's seat, smiling brightly and looking as though nothing eventful had happened the night before. She reached up to comb her fingers through her dark locks, laughing over the roof of the car at the other person, Lydia Jemison. Lydia had auburn curly hair, and a pretty freckled face. She was a nice person, a little shy around strangers yet open and lively with Max. I had always liked that she had never boasted her bloodline and wealth in school, and seemed grounded despite the fact that her grandfather was filthy rich. And she had always been kind to me, the assistant of her grandfather's business rival.

I hesitated to exit and walk up to Max. I hadn't expected her to arrive with company.

Although I had been stood up and felt I was owed an explanation, I also felt a little embarrassed and awkward. How desperate would it look that I had been waiting for her at work? And Max's friend would see me there, now. They would probably laugh about it later…

"Max isn't like that," I thought with a sigh. It wasn't as though I didn't want her to know that I had been concerned about her.

Giving my pride the backseat, I opened the door and stepped out of the car. Max and Lydia, who were slowly making their way to the entrance walkway I stood before, didn't initially spot me. But soon, while chuckling from a joke of Lydia's, Max's head turned forward. Her face immediately showed that same terror I'd seen the night before, and she paused in her steps. Lydia's gaze followed, and she was the one to break the awkwardness.

"Oh, hi, Terry."

"Hey, Lydia," I greeted kindly with a wave.

Max seemed to be gathering a deep breath, and kept glancing at the ground, nervously touching her hair.

"Um, I'll see you in a bit, okay?" Lydia asked Max quietly, to which Max replied with a weak smile.

"Bye Terry," Lydia said with a friendly nod as she walked by for the door.

"See ya'."

Max moved closer, still with her head down and looking remorseful and uncomfortable.

"Um…Terry…I-I'm really sorry," she explained softly, glancing up into my face only a few short instances. "I-I didn't…mean to leave like that."

I sighed. "I called you to see if you were okay. I was worried, you know?"

She frowned, staring absently away. She rubbed her forehead. "Yeah… My phone was off after that call I took," she cleared her throat. "It was my sister. She had gotten sick and was in the hospital." She seemed to wince. "I was kind of upset because my mom called about it and I hadn't talked to her in a while so that's why I was so distraught," came her explanation in a single breath.

I didn't quite know how to digest it…and honestly, if I even _should_. And though I probably should have felt hurt that she was lying to me, she looked so pained as she did so that I felt sympathetic. Whatever was causing Max to hide the true reason why she had left was plainly hurting her, and I didn't like it.

I swallowed.

"Oh…" I replied quietly, then went on to ask, "Are you okay?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes, I'm fine." Max sighed and rubbed her arms. "I'm really sorry I worried you, Terry," she insisted earnestly.

I didn't know what else to say. Everything was so strange now. The discomfort, the unusual behavior, the fact that I had sneaked into her private space and seen the depth of her changes. I hadn't exactly been totally upfront with her either…

I needed more time to find out what was going on, and something was telling me I needed to let her believe that I accepted her lying…for now.

"Well…I'm really sorry…" I spoke sincerely, and added in my head, "that you're lying to me."

Max hesitated, sighing before finally looking up into my eyes for more than a fleeting second. "Would you let me make it up to you?"

"Um--"

"I'm free for dinner tonight," she stated hopefully, her eyes lighting up for a moment, until she abruptly added, "unless you've got patrolling or--"

"Well, yeah, I kind of do."

Max nodded. "Oh, right. I'm sorry," she apologized in embarrassment.

I cleared my throat, not willing to let the opportunity slip away. "We can do lunch again, though, if you want."

She grinned cheerfully, the light returning to her eyes. "Of course I do, Terry."

"Okay, well…um, I'll see you at--"

"The same place and time." She smiled, finishing my sentence for me.

Although I left the Jemison Building parking lot trying to cling to the way Max had brightened at the end of our talk, I still failed to release my concern for her.

* * *

**I appreciate the reviews, dispatcher652, Kyoko Kasshu Minamino, ShadowGoddess1**.


	4. Black Orchids

**Black Orchids are the darkest orchids there are. If you search for them online, you can find pictures of them and see that they are so dark that they are seemingly black in color. I believe they are also very rare.**

* * *

_"We can do lunch again, though, if you want."_

_"Of course I do, Terry."_

_"Okay, well…um, I'll see you at--"_

_"The same place and time."_

Her hand traveled slowly over her dark hair, being careful not to miss a strand as she collected it into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She didn't watch her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She removed one hand to pick up a pin and tuck it into her mouth. A moment later, the air around her was ruffling, and another reflection appeared in the mirror.

"How about wearing it down tonight?"

She looked up. He was staring into the mirror at their images, and he smoothly removed the pin from her lips.

Her eyes shifted away, her face revealing little reaction to his presence.

He slid off the rubber tie binding her hair, carefully positioning the strands over her shoulders. His fingers caressed her cheek.

"Better?"

She nodded silently.

"I need a little help with my tie." He sighed, and she turned to adjust his black tie. "You've been quiet lately."

She shrugged, keeping her focus on her fingers at work. "Just tired."

"Long work-week? I told Perry to go easy on you."

"Doesn't matter."

"Does to me."

He smoothed his tie once she had finished, then walked out of the room.

"I hear Jemison's thinking about giving me another bonus," carried his voice from the hallway.

She closed the clasp of her ruby necklace, the one he had given her.

"I think he's really starting to trust me," he continued, then there was a silence before he came striding back in. "Here, this one."

She accepted the diamond necklace he handed her and removed the other. He buttoned his tuxedo closed, then smiled down at her.

"My favorite red dress. You look perfect. No one there will look half as good."

They shared a brief kiss, but he began to close in to make it longer. She winced slightly when he wrapped his arms around her waist, and he stopped with a chuckle. "I'll ruin your makeup, won't I?"

* * *

"Why, if it isn't Donny and Maxine - my two favorite employees!"

"Thank you, Mr. Jemison, sir. I'm sorry we missed the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Traffic was pretty bad."

"Oh, think nothing of it. Everyone only comes for the food and not the pomp, anyway. You two help yourselves to some refreshments. Ah, I see the mayor's arrived - if you'll excuse me."

The two moved away as the white-haired businessman exited with a nod.

"How about that table there, by the piano? You have a seat while I get our food - oh, good evening, Lydia," he cut himself off when the auburn-haired woman walked over.

"Hey Donny, Max," Lydia Jemison greeted casually, then touched Max's arm. "I _love_ your dress."

"Thanks," Max stated with a gracious smile.

"Well," Donny clasped his hands together, "I'll go get those plates now," he announced. He slithered an arm around Max's waist. "Save me a seat?" he asked lightly, then pecked a kiss on her forehead and ambled off.

"So when did Donny get back from Miami?" inquired Lydia as she looped an arm through Max's and they strolled to the empty roundtable.

"Just yesterday, actually," Max answered while they sat.

"Oh, I thought he wasn't going to make it to tonight's dinner."

Max cleared her throat as she adjusted the hem of her red dress on her crossed legs. "He had a change of plans and surprised me."

Lydia nodded with a friendly smile. "Oh, how nice."

Max nodded as well, without a word.

"I see Mr. Wayne's showed up. Grandfather was hoping he would come. You know, he's helped a lot with encouraging Grandfather to open this new research center," she paused. "I'm surprised Terry McGinnis isn't with him, though. Isn't he still his right-hand man?"

Max's coffee eyes had instantly popped over to where Lydia gestured, frantically scanning the guests for black hair and blue eyes.

But he wasn't there - only Bruce, although this alone was not ideal either.

"Um, well…" she fumbled, her manic heart-rate still jolting her entire body so much that she worried Lydia might take notice. Max hugged herself, trying to mask the involuntary reaction and appear normal. "Yes, he still is," she finished in as colorless a tone as she could produce.

"I hadn't seen Terry for a few months until the other day at the office parking lot," Lydia's words were mere third-party commentary, and she searched through the matching green clutch to her dress. "This mascara's _the worst_."

Max didn't make any statement, but kept her eyes on the former Batman across the dining hall, making sure he hadn't spotted her. The older gentleman was sipping his beverage and conversing with a young woman who was exhibiting extreme groupie-like behavior. Marceea - the secretary who had earned the status of "office blabber-mouth/temptress." There was only one Jemison employee under fifty whom she hadn't succeeded to charm, as he was too busy with his sights on someone else.

Max smirked. Perhaps Marceea had moved onto older men, and outside of the company, at that.

Max's expression was wiped clean, however, when Bruce (who was looking rather eager to be rid of the woman) turned to look her way.

"Hey Lyd? Can we switch seats?" Max proposed swiftly, smiling falsely. "I want to make sure Donny can spot me."

Lydia chuckled. "Sure. We probably shouldn't even be seen together in _these_ dresses. Between your bright red and my lime green, I bet we're a margarita-bloody mary sight."

Max laughed as they made the switch, now with her back mostly facing Bruce. "We definitely got the same memo to be bold, didn't we?" she teased.

When Donny returned, Lydia politely scooted away for another table of colleagues. Donny also left to chat with some of the supervisors, and Max was left alone with her food.

Salad, no dressing. Water. She pushed her fork around the food, knowing she would eat it eventually but in no hurry to do so. Her stomach rumbled longingly when the tantalizing scent of baked chicken floated from Donny's abandoned plate across from hers. She raked a hand through her hair, and sent a glance over at Bruce's table.

He was gone. The butterflies reawakened in her stomach. She twisted her torso in her chair to better see the entire hall. He was nowhere on the surrounding walls, not even with Jemison, who was posted near the dessert table, heartily laughing it up with the servers. It was only when her gaze swept closer to the tables around her that she saw him.

Bruce was squeezing through the closely-positioned tables for hers. Max's stomach clenched. Would it be alright to go chat with Lydia? To get some more water, maybe? Four tables, three - soon he was just one table away. Max's body was quaking again, but her mind was frozen, at a loss for ideas.

And then, a glimmer of hope.

"Hey, Bruce, what has it been, fifteen years?" a man was standing now, blocking Bruce's path and clutching his shoulder.

"David, you're looking well."

"Thanks! And this is my wife, Pam. We were just kids when you last saw us - Pam, Bruce, here, got me into technology…"

Max tuned out of the conversation from that point on, and strategically rose to find Lydia while she still had the chance.

"Hello there, Madame Vice Pres.," someone interrupted when she had moved off only a few tables.

Max paused, smiling courteously at the red-haired man who was wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Hey, Harrison."

He chuckled, still swallowing his food. "Here, have a seat." He patted the empty chair beside him. His table was empty, save for a quiet couple across from them, their eyes on their dinner.

Chewing her lip, Max occupied the seat.

"Unless you're busy, of course--"

"No, it's fine." Max smiled.

Harrison nodded, reaching for his glass of iced tea. He was a good-looking man in his late twenties, but admittedly lonely. He was shy around most of the female co-workers, and his position as chief researcher made him slightly intimidating for them to approach him. But he was kind, and had trained Max when she first arrived at the company.

"I see Donny's back," he noted after drinking his tea. "I know you must've missed him. The place wasn't the same without him."

Max displayed a smile. "How do you like the new research center?" she asked, seeing that Harrison was in one of his "inquire about her relationship with Donny" moods. He had always meant well, but she had never been convinced he wasn't prodding for information so that he and Donny could trade places.

"I think it's great. Anything's better than those ancient machines we've been using on the twentieth floor."

Max chuckled. "True."

"Do you think they'll have you down there much? Or will you be confined to an office?" Harrison's tone was playful.

"Well, I'll probably get the office-confined end of the stick with this new promotion, but I can always tinker with my own equipment when I get bored."

Harrison laughed, straightening his glasses on his nose. "Good call. You were born to be around computers," he sighed. "You know, I put in your name for research department VP, instead of where you ended up in marketing."

Max's eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

Harrison nodded with a smile, picking up his fork and knife to slice through his half-eaten chicken. "But I suppose Donny begged to differ," he said it in passing, but not without a slightly woeful undertone. "Anyway, I've got this idea for a--"

"Enjoying your meal, Harrison?"

Max's eyes darted up, just above Harrison's head. A pair of strong hands rested on his shoulders. She was being steadily watched.

"Oh, hey Donny. Yeah, of course. Jemison's always had great taste in caterers," the researcher said honestly with a laugh.

"I like to think so," Donny replied coolly, smiling easily. "I hope I'm not interrupting, but there are some friends of mine here who are dying to meet you, Max," his gaze slid slowly over to her. "Do you mind, Harrison?"

Harrison shook his head. "No, of course not. Be my guest. Bye, Max."

* * *

"I was surprised to see Wayne there. You'd think Jemison would begin to separate himself from his rival. I suppose some friendships are as thick as blood."

Max kept her eyes out the tinted windows of the car, listening to Donny's afterthoughts on the evening.

"Do you know what ever became of McGinnis, by the way? Weren't you two pretty close back in highschool?" he asked casually, looking over at Max.

"I don't know what he's up to now," she said quietly, grateful for the late hour, so that Donny wouldn't see the way her frame was shaking again.

Donny didn't reply, but returned his eyes to the road he navigated. Max was at least grateful for the smoothness of the ride, since her stomach felt as though it had been tossed into a blender.

At long last, the ride was over. Donny killed the engine, and through the slightly open windows, the twilight sounds of crickets whispered on the quiet avenue. Max's hand was already on the lever. As she expected, Donny leaned over, twisting her face toward his. After kissing her, he asked, "Can I come in?"

When Max didn't answer immediately, he sighed. "Okay, you're right. I'm a little tired too." He kissed her again, then pulled away and unlocked the doors. "I'll drop by at six tomorrow to pick you up."

* * *

**Sorry this took me a while. Thank you for the reviews and for reading.**


	5. Red Bleeding Hearts

**Bleeding Hearts are flowers that look exactly as their name implies. They are heart-shaped flowers with a portion hanging on the bottom that look like a blood droplet. You can find them by searching "bleeding hearts flowers."**

* * *

_Donny leaned over, twisting her face toward his. After kissing her, he asked, "Can I come in?"_

_When Max didn't answer immediately, he sighed. "Okay, you're right. I'm a little tired too." He kissed her again, then pulled away and unlocked the doors. "I'll drop by at six tomorrow to pick you up."_

"I want you to have a look at the Wheeler Psychiatric Clinic."

"Over on seventeenth street? Didn't it just get bought by Jemison Inc.?"

"Correct."

"What am I looking for?"

"Search around for evidence of suspicious activity."

"Suspicious as in…?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

I swallowed back the yawn in my mouth, not feeling like explaining to Bruce why I had been up for most of my previous off-night (I had been talking to Max).

My jet sailed stealthily through the shadows of the buildings, until I slowed it to a stop. I activated the transparency cloak and ejected.

It was about fifteen after midnight, and the exterior of the small clinic was bare. Apparently, Jemison was in a hurry to make his claim.

I let myself in through the back window, then used my flashlight to see my way around the old-style clinic. All of the old equipment and papers had been cleared for Jemison to move in, all but the trash cans, which were overflowing. I nudged a toe against one beneath the front desk, sending the small bin toppling onto its side.

"Yuck, old meat."

"Sure?"

I sighed. "No way I'm sticking my nose in that."

Bruce had nothing to say.

"I'm gonna' regret this,' I muttered while stooping to whiff the remnants of salami sandwich. "Weird… Smells almost fresh." I straightened warily, looking around for company. "Sure I'm alone?"

I proceeded to the back offices, paying special attention to the cabinets and desks. Finally, I spotted an oddly uneven portion of wood on the side of a drawer.

"We're in business, partner," I mumbled as I pressured the area.

"I'm not your partner."

"Er - boss - whatever."

A loud cranking sound emitted from the far wall, and I noticed the ancient wood-panels in motion. They slid, one over the other, until a black passageway was visible.

"I know Wheeler had a bad name at times, but a _secret passageway_?"

"See what's down there. We're getting warmer."

I sighed and walked cautiously inside. The floor was descending into a wide ramp. Where I at long last ended up was in a basement laboratory of some kind. I frowned as I pushed through the hanging lamps and chords.

"Everything looks new - and no dust down here, either," I noted as I walked along. But I hadn't reached the other side yet. I stopped walking, still with my hand near my eyes to push away the hanging fixtures. My brow lowered.

A gray platform, a booth with a green, plastic tank of liquid sitting on top. Several thick cables connected it to a supercomputer on my right. The machine must have been on sleep mode, because the green liquid was glowing very softly.

I felt a surge in my back when my eyes fell on the cable. Visions of a red and black-clad figure, a palm approaching my eyes, Max's face, framed by pink hair - the choppy images streamed through my thoughts, all at once. I pressed a hand to my forehead, trying to steady myself.

"He's back," I said in a low voice.

'I'm not so sure, actually."

'Why not?"

Bruce took a moment to answer. "He's still in Arkham."

"Well, then, how is his machine here?"

"That's what we need to figure out."

"_Something _brought me to this clinic, either way. What's your lead, old guy?"

"Terry, I'm not so sure…" Bruce began, then hesitated. "We'll discuss it later, at the cave. Gather some fingerprints and other samples, then report back."

I frowned when the link went dead. Why was he acting so strangely tonight?

* * *

"You said you wanted to talk to me in private about the case?"

Bruce's head rose to watch me stroll into the main corridor of the Batcave, carrying my backpack on my shoulder, the suit stuffed inside.

His eyes drifted to the backpack. I blinked, then looked down.

"Oops," I chuckled as I tucked the black glove back inside. "So I'm still getting the hang of this secrecy stuff, okay?" I tried to jest, but Bruce's face remained long.

"Terry," he began in a heavy tone. "Have a seat," he wiggled his cane toward a seat across from his at the Batcomputer.

Sighing, I did as I was told, but not without feeling as though I was about to be scolded.

Bruce was staring coldly at his hands wrapped around his wooden cane, I sat jogging my knees up and down, juggling my bag from hand to hand.

"Max is still working with Jemison, isn't she?"

My brow creased. _This _was an unexpected subject. Max hadn't come up in our conversations in the cave since…_highschool_. Why should she? Max had kindly declined to help me anymore at the start of college. And Bruce had been completely fine (and a little relieved) with her stepping-down.

Had my mom put him up to it? Was this our first man-to-man? Was my pursuit of Max _this_ obvious? So much that my own boss had to confront me about it?

I cleared my throat. Time to face the music. I had nothing to hide, anyway. I just hoped he wasn't planning on giving me woman advice. _That_ would be embarrassing.

"Um, yeah. She's with Jemison. She just got promoted to marketing VP, actually."

Bruce nodded silently, still not meeting my eyes. "You speak with her regularly, still."

It wasn't a question. I only nodded.

"Walter…Mr. Jemison…is a good friend of mine, Terry," Bruce said through a sigh. "I would even go so far as to call him a _close _friend. Of course he knows nothing of all this--" he motioned his hands around him to the Batcave. "--and although we're rivals in business, I trust him more than any other businessman in the city."

I nodded again.

"But I'm suspicious of my friend's company."

My eyebrows lowered. "But why? Just because Spellbinder's machine was in the basement of Jemison's new building doesn't mean Jemison--"

"Terry, I _don't _know anything yet. Neither do you." He was looking straight at me now. "And I need you to be very careful and watchful whenever you're around someone who works for Jemison.

So _that's_ why he had me sitting down, why he was being so careful to break it to me.

Max.

But how could she have anything to do with some washed-out villain's fantasy machine that just _happened_ to turn up in the basement of…the place her company…had just…bought… My argument didn't sound very good in my own mind, either. Yet still…

I wasn't sold.

I sighed grumpily, massaging the bridge of my nose. It didn't help that I was also feeling the weight of my lack of sleep. It wasn't exactly an early hour, either.

I didn't want to talk about it anymore. Best put on a good face and get the heck away from Bruce's scrutinizing eyes…before I could begin to allow my own suspicion…

"I'm Batman. I think I can handle keeping my private life out of my life here, Bruce," I said quietly, with a firmness in my tone, and I rose to leave.

This much was certain: I didn't want to be without Max, not when I was just beginning to see her smile I loved returning.

I cranked on the radio in the car as I sped home. I needed to distract my nomadic thoughts before they could trick me into agreeing with my mentor. I passed the power rock stations I usually enjoyed at all hours of the day, landing instead on Max's oldies station. We used to sing along to it while on the way home from college. My mouth was smiling as the shadows in the moving car painted her figure in the passenger seat, her playful smile and eyes glancing sideways at me.

_Can you tell me  
How can one miss what she's never had?  
How could I reminisce when there is no past?  
How could I have memories of being happy with you, boy?  
Can someone tell me how can this be?_

My smile remained as I steered through the thin traffic, zooming between the glowing buildings. If Max was a singer, this is what she would sound like.

_  
How could my mind pull up incidents?  
Recall dates and times that never happened?  
How could we celebrate a love that's too late?  
And how could I really mean the words I'm 'bout to say?_

My mouth gradually returned to normal as the song played, my ears focusing intently on the lyrics. Suddenly every song was all about Max and I. And now this one sounded sad.

_I miss the times that we almost shared  
I miss the love that was almost there  
I miss the times that we used to kiss, at least in my dreams  
Just let me take my time and reminisce  
I miss the times that we never had  
What happened to us? We were almost there  
Whoever said it's impossible to miss what you never had?  
Never almost had you_

I took my music player with me after pulling into the parking lot, elevating the volume as I stepped inside the emptiness of my apartment. I pressed my earphones in, then headed straight for my bed. I pulled off my shirt and ducked under the covers. My cell phone had slipped out of my pocket and onto the floor. Sighing, I stretched out to grasp it. I soon found myself laying on my back, one arm bent between my head and the pillow, the phone in the grip of one hand, my sleepy eyes on the screen. The wallpaper was a shot I had captured of Max (with much arguing from her) from a couple of days back, at the theater. At least here, this way, she was always smiling, always happy.

_I cannot believe I let you go  
Or what I should say is I should've grabbed you up and never let you go  
I should've went out with you  
I should've made you my boo, boy  
Yeah, that's one time I should've broke the rules_

_We should've went on a date  
Should've found a way to escape  
Should've turned an "almost" into  
"If it happened" _

_Now it's too late  
How could I celebrate a love that wasn't real?  
And if it didn't happen, why does my heart feel?_

_  
_Everything had been fine, especially that day. She had seemed a different person, or at least the person I used to know - before graduation. At least until we got to the restaurant later that night.

Why had she been so afraid when she came back from the bathroom?

I cursed myself. I should have really asked her if something was going on. Max wouldn't just behave that way over nothing.

But hadn't she lied? I had tracked her to the Jemison parking lot, only to confront her and receive nearly the same pained expression of terror…so much that she had lied. Maybe…Max needed me. Maybe she was in trouble?

I tried not to think of Bruce's words, but they kept seeping in regardless. I rolled onto my side, allowing the song to play on as I closed my eyes.

If Max really was in trouble, I would be the one to rescue her. I didn't want us to be an "almost," and I didn't want her to ever have to sing this song.

_And you seem to be the perfect one for me_

_You, you're all that I ever wanted  
And you're my everything_

_Yes it's true  
Boy, it's hard to be close to you  
My love, I know it may sound crazy  
But I'm in love with you  
_

When I gave in to the sleep, it was with Max's voice singing in my ears.

_I miss the times that we almost shared  
I miss the love that was almost there  
I miss the times that we used to kiss, at least in my dreams  
Just let me take my time and reminisce  
I miss the times that we never had  
What happened to us? We were almost there  
Whoever said it's impossible to miss what you never had?  
Never almost had you_

* * *

It was a big deal. I was having company for dinner, and not just _any_ company. Max was only fifteen minutes away, tied up in Gotham rush-hour. My hands were shaking as I re-arranged the knick-knacks on the glass coffee table for the sixth or seventh time (I had lost count at four). I was standing before the decorative mirror between the kitchen and dining room, giving it a quick polish, when I realized my clothes…or lack thereof. I had been cleaning and re-arranging for about two hours, in nothing but basketball shorts.

"Slag!" I shouted while abandoning the washcloth and spray bottle, then made a beeline for the shower. I was out in five, then sloshed my mouth with an abundance of sizzling, minty toothpaste. My reflection said I needed a shave, but if I tried to do it now, I would be a face full of blood and quite possibly maimed.

"Let's hope she's okay with some stubble," I grumbled while combing some gel through my wet hair. I grasped my towel and rubbed it vigorously across my hair. I pulled up to stare into the foggy mirror.

Tousled. Hmm. Well, the gel would tame it some.

I decided on a barely fitted dark blue button-down shirt, khaki shorts and sneakers (we had agreed to casual gear - neither of us wanting there to be _six _days of formal wear in our busy lives).

When I tugged the shirt over my head, it pressed my hair closer to my scalp, making me look much more put-together. My hands fumbled across the bathroom counter, undoing all of my organizing.

"Deodorant, deodorant…" I hadn't one clue which to wear. Generic and scentless? Too disengaged? Rude in a not-caring-how-I-smell way? Or maybe something woodsy and powerful? Too forward and expectant and/or "come hither?"

KNOCK KNOCK

"Slaggit!" I spat, then finally reached for a happy medium of "scentless" (when everybody knows that just means it doesn't smell as strong as others).

I consulted every mirror between the bathroom and front door, twisting my face strangely and tossing my hair. But when I opened the door, I was smiling casually.

"Hey!"

"Hey, Terry," Max was beaming coyly, touching her ear.

We hesitated. (Apparently, the awkwardness was still to be dealt with.)

I chuckled, stepping forward. Max didn't mirror. I stepped back, but Max laughed and moved closer lifting her arms. Somehow, someway, we eventually ended up in an embrace.

"Wow, you smell _incredible_," I wanted to say out loud, but my mind kept it private as we pulled away.

"You look nice," I voiced after clearing my throat.

"Nice?" Really?

She looked _better_ than "nice." She was very pretty in a yellow frilly blouse and jeans. Only Max could be a knockout in formal _and _casual-wear. Also, her face looked a little different. I guessed she wasn't wearing the same makeup as she did during the work-week, but she almost looked prettier without it. Would it be impolite to tell her this?

"Thank you. You look great too," Max complimented.

I chuckled, glancing down at my last-minute ensemble. "You won't believe this, but I seriously _just_ threw this on - but actually you _will _believe it," I poked at myself.

Max was laughing at my rambling joke as we stepped inside of my bachelor pad. My mom had once offered to help decorate, but I politely declined, wanting to give it a try on my own. After all, I watched those home design shows in my spare time - nothing to be ashamed of. And I knew enough to pull off a laid-back, modern living space with gray colors and unfinished woods. I figured if Bruce could do it, so could I.

"I like it," Max mused, sliding a palm along the back of the sofa as she looked around.

"Oh, thanks. I'd forgotten you hadn't seen it before. Sit wherever you like - the spaghetti's just about done."

Max smiled and parked on the sofa, folding her hands in her lap.

"Are you thirsty?" I called from the kitchen, just behind the den, which was visible through a window and bar.

"Water would be perfect," she replied.

"Water, water," I mumbled while taking a glass and filling it from the pitcher.

When I returned to the den, toting the glass, my eyes fell onto the end table, just where Max's elbow was resting.

I froze, but managed to keep hold on the glass. A sock?! How had I missed it?!

I glided over and extended the beverage, squeezing myself into the corner of the sofa, between Max and the end table. Somewhere in this swift motion, I also wrapped an arm over the top of the couch behind her, reaching behind me with the other to swipe the sock.

Max, taken slightly by surprise, chuckled as she accepted the water.

"So, how's your weekend been?" I asked.

"Um, it's been fine," she answered slowly, but her eyes were trailing from my face to the activity behind my back, trying to sneak a glance. "Are you…okay, Ter?" she finally asked, laughing quietly.

I chewed my lip, then sighed, bringing my arm and the balled up article into the open. I looked up at her with a shamed expression. "Guess I was in too much of a hurry while cleaning. Sorry… But I swear it's clean!"

Max's face looked completely blank for a moment, and then suddenly, she was smiling, laughing, more than I had ever seen or heard in months.

Gradually, my own laughter followed behind, though I wasn't quite sure if I should be embarrassed or not.

"I'm sorry, Ter," Max was managing to say between gasps, spilling her water. "Oh slag!" she cursed as some water fell on the sofa and her knees. "I'm making a mess," She apologized, but was still unable to fight her smile.

All at once, there was silence as the hilarity faded away. Max chewed her lip, blushing as she gazed down in my absence of speech. Both of us began to notice how close we were sitting.

I laughed softly, staring in stupefied fixation at her. "It's okay, really. It's just pleather anyway," I snickered, but my comic timing was jet-lagged, because I was suddenly stuck on how beautiful Max was at that moment.

She didn't see my staring, not until she slowly looked up, this time with a reserved smile. Max boldly held my gaze, meeting it full-on, almost as though looking for something.

"You sure freaked when I spilled my soda on your leather Bat-mobile seats that one time in high school," she said quietly, very quietly, and almost humorously…like she used to do.

I watched her lips as she spoke.

"Is it okay if I'm dying to kiss you right now?" asked my conscience.

This was the Max I remembered.

"You sound really familiar," I whispered unthinkingly, leaning my head closer to hers.

BEEP BEEP

The blasted kitchen timer.

With eyes shut, I smiled wryly. Ah well. When I opened my eyes, Max held the same expression, a smile curled at the corner of her lips.

"Dinner's ready," I spoke with a sigh as I stood to attend to my cooking. "And boy, had it better taste _amazing_ for that," I added, and I heard Max giggling from the other room.

* * *

"This view is unbelievable."

"You could say I wanted to find whatever's closest to what I see every night from above."

Max and I strolled slowly into the darkness of the balcony of my apartment. It was large enough to hold a table and two chairs, and a few planters. Yet still, it was a small, intimate space for two.

"I can see that," she responded with a slow gaze across the sea of lights beyond and below, the Gotham City as viewed from on high.

"Here, it looks better without the light." I hung back to touch the dimmer in the doorway, my eyes on Max. The gentle porch lamp faded, and the space was lit only by the blue moonlight and the city now.

Max turned with a glowing smile. "Wow."

I stuffed my hands into my pockets and strolled over to join her at the low stone wall.

"Almost like you could just leap out from here and fly, isn't it?" she asked.

I chuckled. "Yeah, but I try to keep things a little more under-wraps than that."

Max laughed softly, resting her hands atop the wall. "Good point," she noted with a slow nod. "Dinner was great."

"Yeah, I admit vegetarian spaghetti was new to me, but not bad - pretty good, actually."

I had expected her to smile again, maybe. But her eyes seemed to veil with a remoteness. Even after the dinner and having a nice evening together, she still retained a level of that fear I had spotted ever since we had reunited after graduation.

But now, it barely looked hidden at all. It was as though she had given up hiding it anymore.

I cleared my throat quietly, scratching my jaw line. "Are you happy around me?" I asked after a difficult moment of deliberation. I released a labored breath. "I mean…I don't mean this in the wrong way, but lately you seem sad around me."

Max's face looked hurt, though I wasn't sure if it was by my words. She turned to look at me. "Terry…that couldn't be any further from the truth," she said earnestly, her deep brown eyes searching mine. "Terry, you make me happy. I never…smile nearly as much as when I'm with you." She swallowed, then drew in a long breath as her eyes steadily fell from mine. "Sometimes it's hard for me to…separate myself…from work," she explained, each word seeming to prick her like a thorn as they spilled from her lips.

And the sadness on her face was paramount now.

Before I was aware of what I was doing, my hand was touching her hair, gently parting a dark strand away from her face. "Then I wish I could make you happy all the time," I spoke automatically, allowing my inner thoughts to leak for once.

For a fleeting second, Max's eyes widened very faintly, and she seemed almost afraid again, but it was a different type of fear than before…perhaps a disbelief - an inner struggle to take it or leave it.

I was half expecting her to race for the apartment and out the door, to run away from me as she had that night at the restaurant, but all at once, she surrendered herself into my arms. Max rested her head against my heart. My chest pounded in surprise, and I turned my face to press my cheek to her hair at the top of her head. My arms soon followed naturally, embracing her tightly. I wasn't sure how long the hug was supposed to last, but either way, I found my arms unwilling to let her go.

We didn't speak. Nothing was to be said.

But my thoughts were racing. Did she even _know_ how long I had been waiting for her? How long I had kept too much of how I felt about her to myself? How many jokes I had allowed to slip by as nothing but flirtation in passing and without a serious proposal in their wake? Had she _any idea_ of how much I cursed myself for not simply asking her if we could…

And yet, even in this moment, I was _still_ speechless.

"Terry," I heard Max whisper, and she pulled back her head, staring up into my face.

"Max," was all I got out before I had pressed my lips to hers.

* * *

*Song Credit: "Almost" by Tamia (you can hear it on the _Bring Me Flowers _playlist at **guardianangelstory. b l o g s p o t . c o m (without the spaces.)**

**Thank you so much for the reviews! I hope you continue to enjoy this story.**


	6. Jasmine

**Chapter Title Note: Jasmine flowers bloom only at night.**

**(And so sorry for butchering Spellbinder's virtual reality machine! I had described it as being a tank with green liquid in previous chapters, when I re-watched part of the "Hooked Up" episode and learned that I was wrong. It's actually a metal platform which the subject floats on and emits a green orb of light. So from now on I'll try to be more accurate. These details slip over time, without being exposed to the show regularly anymore.)**

* * *

_And yet, even in this moment, I was _still_ speechless._

_"Terry," I heard Max whisper, and she pulled back her head, staring up into my face._

_"Max," was all I got out before I had pressed my lips to hers._

We sort of just…stayed that way. We didn't move, not until the connection was made in my brain of what was taking place. I was kissing her! I pulled Max closer into me, beginning to move my mouth against hers. My head was light-years ahead of me now, and I was forgetting the outside world.

And then…it was over.

Max drew in a sharp breath and pushed away. I stared, at a complete loss, as she took a step back, one hand pressed to her mouth and the other raking through her hair. She was trembling, looking unnerved all of a sudden.

"Good one, McGinnis!" chided my conscience.

I sighed apologetically, lightly knocking my fists together. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…I mean, I-I was moving too fast, wasn't I?"

The previous moment was amazing, but now I felt like a jerk.

"I wasn't meaning to just--I mean, I-I--Max, I--"

"No, no, Terry. It's okay," Max quickly silenced before I could become frantic and make matters worse. She still seemed to be getting a hold of herself as well, and backed into the balcony wall, resting her palms atop it. She wasn't looking at me.

I wasn't convinced by her words.

"I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry…" I nervously scratched my collar. "You're not angry at me, are you?"

Max's eyes finally lifted to mine. Her lips smiled after a moment, and she laughed gently. Her head moved slowly from side to side. "No…I'm not angry at you." She seemed to be about to say something else, but her gaze inched away once more. "_I'm _sorry."

This time, I was the one laughing - in disbelief. "Why? You don't have any reason to be."

Max gave an attempt to smile, and her eyes found mine again. "Yeah…" she agreed with me in voice, but her face said completely otherwise.

* * *

Sleep was terrible, needless to say. Max left shortly after our "incident," and though she had thanked me for the meal and evening, and had been quite gracious and warm as always, I still felt…dumb. A first kiss with a girl you like isn't supposed to terrify her…

Maybe Max didn't want to be with me… Maybe I was annoying to her?

I dipped my head into the sink full of water in the bathroom, allowing the cold to shock my senses and distract my negative thoughts. When I pulled up, I reached for the hand-towel with eyes still closed.

I could see her face, the blatant pain on those beautiful features as she backed out of my arms. That face shouldn't have to look that way, and I _hated_ being the one who had caused it.

Muttering a curse, I opened my eyes, spreading my palms on either side of the counter as I hung my head. The water beaded on the tips of my just-washed hair, crashing with audible splashes onto the cold marble.

_"Are you happy around me?_ _I mean…I don't mean this in the wrong way, but lately you seem sad around me."_

_"Terry…that couldn't be any further from the truth. Terry, you make me happy. I never…smile nearly as much as when I'm with you…_ _Sometimes it's hard for me to…separate myself…from work…"_

I faced my reflection, drained the sink, then left to change into my suit and tie.

The first few hours of work were unbearable. Max and I hadn't made any plans for the future the night before (one more nail in my coffin), thus I ate lunch alone. But the closer the end of my shift approached, I was able to put at least most of my thoughts into my work.

I was reading my emails late today. I hadn't felt in the mood to do so earlier, as I usually did. I sent the usual chain letters to the trash folder as my eyes lifelessly scanned along. I pulled off my tie with a tired sigh, sliding back my chair and propping my feet on the trash receptacle under my desk.

And to think I had hours of physical work tonight…

I scraped my hands over my weary face. Only one email left. I gazed numbly out the window, into the surrounding skyscrapers, the setting orange sun playing hide and go seek behind the buildings. My eyes systematically avoided Jemison Tower, and I tackled the final email with another sigh.

It was from the supervisor, an update on the virus which had been attacking our databases. It was spreading faster, and more firewalls were being established. Apparently, one of my colleagues had been booted on suspicion that he was a spy from another company, although the email neglected to say _which_ company…

* * *

"Well someone's certainly in a chatty mood tonight."

"Think so?"

Bruce grunted. "Not very often you ask for stories of my encounters with women. Usually you insist you've got it all under control and that times have changed."

I laughed lightheartedly, leaping up into the jet when the glass dome retracted.

"Well, let's just say I've realized I have a lot to learn from you."

Bruce didn't entertain my sycophancy as I began to fly the jet away from the library, where I'd just saved some nerd's tail from Jokerz on the prowl.

Bruce's face wasn't amused on the screen at my controls.

I sighed. "Okay, fine. So I'm having some trouble with Max…or, well, with myself, I guess."

"And we're talking about Max again because…?"

I rolled my eyes. "Can we please switch to audio only? I feel like I did back in Juvie when they gave me the third degree."

Bruce's face vanished.

"As you wish. Why are you still seeing the girl?" He wasted no time in getting back on topic.

I sighed again at "the girl" bit.

"I may not even tell you," I grumbled, "since you've already got my private life on watch."

Bruce was silent again.

"Look, I like her…a lot," I dished. "I know you aren't really okay with that. But I don't have anything but complete confidence and trust in Max's character. And don't pretend you haven't been in my shoes…" my speech trailed, I frowned slowly, considering my words. "Well, of course, your case _was_ a little different since she turned out to be a cat-crazed criminal maniac, but _anyway--_" I sighed again. "Bruce, I'm in love with Max. But I'm worried about her. She says she's happiest whenever she's around me, but it's like it's the opposite. Heck, I kissed her last night and it was more like I had stabbed her or something. What do I do?"

"Not to sound facetious, but mouth wash is a great start."

I wasn't originally planning on it, but I was laughing in the next moment. "Big help you are," I mumbled.

"Terry," Bruce said, his tone serious now. "I have my own faith in Max as well. She _did_ work for me for a time, after all, and I'm proud of my judgment. But honestly, unless you have reason to believe she's in real danger, I wouldn't worry," he insisted. "Did you know that sometimes women recoil _because_ they're attracted to you? You need to be patient. Now, let's have a look at the Wheeler Clinic again, shall we, Batman?"

* * *

"I see they haven't taken out the trash again," I noted with disgust while creeping through the Wheeler Psychiatric Clinic. "Ugh, this whole place reeks of salami!"

"You'll live," Bruce assured dully.

I bypassed the sub sandwich-remnant-filled bins and headed down the secret ramp for the lab.

"Here's an idea," I proposed while trekking amongst the desks, and up to the super-computer which controlled Spellbinder's glowing machine. "You call up your buddy Jemison, invite him over for a few drinks, y'know, loosen him up a bit, and then ask what business he's got with Spellbinder's old deathtrap."

"Very funny. But why don't you try it - it's your idea, after all," Bruce played along.

"Nah, to be honest--" I began to decline, but suddenly stumbled over some chords. "Slag," I uttered, then began to pull myself up, my hand touching a thick roll of paper on the desk as I did do.

"No need to be stealthy."

"Hey, wait, I think I've found something." I stood up, staring at the newspaper in my hands.

"What is it? Turn on your vidlink."

I activated the vidlink so that Bruce could see. "Interesting article on the front page, here - too bad nobody bothers to read these old things anymore."

"What does it say? The print's too small for me to see."

"Jemison Heir Pioneers Cure for ADHD, Depression."

"What?" Bruce sounded surprised. "Are you sure you're reading that correctly? That's not what _my_ copy reads."

(Of _course _Bruce still read the newspaper.)

I frowned as I turned the Gotham Times copy over in my hands. "Hmm, I guess the lack of a date in the upper right-hand corner could explain that."

"Then it's a phony."

"Wonder what for…" I pondered.

"Read me the article, then take some snapshots of it and send them to me," Bruce instructed.

I thumbed along to the page, then began to read. "A number of studies and experiments carried out by Jemison's research department have finally yielded a groundbreaking result: a cure for the enigmatic attention deficit disorder and depression. Five subjects were put through psychiatric tests which utilized serotonin-inducing virtual reality simulators, ranging in teens with moderate to severe forms of the disease. New company CEO Donny Grasso says the results are 'astounding,' and will pave the way for many individuals inflicted by these debilitating diseases to lead 'normal, full lives.'" I paused, letting the information sink in. Wasn't Donny just promoted to manager of the sales department? Not _CEO_ of the _whole_ Jemison firm…

"Donny Grasso's the one who was stealing creds a few years ago to feed his virtual reality addiction Spellbinder had him in," Bruce said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, this thing nearly killed him," I stated with a glance at the eerily glowing machine. I remembered Max hovering inside, lost in her parallel universe. "But what does this mean? The FDA would never approve of this machine for research into disease cures. And why was this fake article printed? Not to mention it's got its facts wrong on Donny…"

"Sounds to me either someone is trying to someday frame Donny Grasso," Bruce paused for a moment. "Or Donny himself is planning to lead Jemison Inc. astray."

"And this article could be a practice-run for the real thing," I mused glumly.

"Look around for notes, journals. If someone really has resurrected that deadly machine and it's being used on people with mental illness, we need to find out who and stop them." He hesitated. "And I now give you full permission to see Max - as much as possible, at that. She just might be our only glimpse inside of Jemison Inc."

As much as I didn't like the idea of essentially spying on Max, it would, at least, put me around her more, and hopefully I could get to the bottom of whatever was hurting her.

* * *

When I left the cave that night, it was earlier than usual (well, midnight was pretty early for me). Instead of driving down the freeway for my apartment complex, I instead headed toward downtown Gotham. Dressed in some jeans and a t-shirt, I shrugged on my brown jacket and walked inside of the corner café where I had reunited with Max just a week prior now. They stayed open late at night, until one o'clock. That meant I had an hour to grab some coffee and do some thinking about what I'd learned in my investigating.

The place was much different at night - empty, mostly. But the greatest difference was the music, which you could actually _hear_ playing from the jukebox, since the building wasn't abuzz with talking voices.

This was when I enjoyed the café most.

I slid into my usual window-side seat, watching the passing cars, the lights of the city which was just coming alive.

I had just ordered my coffee and begun to read news archives on my cell phone, when I heard a voice from behind.

"Is this seat taken?"

I nearly jumped as I looked up. "Oh…no, of course not."

She grinned slowly, sliding out the chair across from mine and taking a seat. She combed her dark brown hair from her eyes. She wore a leather jacket and jeans.

I didn't say anything - I didn't really _know_ what to say.

She looked down at her hands folded on the table, then up at me. "Looks like you've got me hooked."

I sat up a little as my heart quickened on her words.

"I see you had the same idea of coming here when it's less crowded," she added with a chuckle.

My shoulders relaxed slightly. Ever the elusive Max.

"So close, yet so far," cursed my conscience.

I laughed it off. "Oh, yeah. It's better at night…everything is."

Max nodded slowly, then we both smiled as though an unspoken issue was settled.

"So how was…flying?" she asked.

"The usual. Saved some kid at the library."

Max nodded, listening with an interested smile as she propped her chin in her hand. "And I'm sure he'll be eternally grateful."

I snickered. "Yeah, except he's one of those fanatics determined to expose me."

Max's head tilted, her eyes lit with mischief. "I remember that ambition."

I laughed. "There was no stopping you."

"Nope."

I leaned forward, folding my arms on the table and nudging my coffee aside.

"Be honest, why did you _really_ try to unmask me?" I ventured daringly.

Max's gaze moved away, but she was still smiling. "Oh…" she pondered aloud, tracing a finger on the swirls in the woodwork of the table separating us. "I don't know…." her voice dwindled, until she met my stare again. "Guess you could say I always had a secret crush on Batman."

I laughed quietly. "Bruce would be flattered."

Max's eyes rolled. "No, silly. Not _that_ Batman." But she knew I was cornering her now. "You know who I mean."

I shrugged my shoulders, watching her closely. "Do I?"

I chuckled apologetically when Max gazed off with an embarrassed laugh.

"Okay, okay. But Batman _is two_ people, you know," I highlighted the obvious, then became serious. "I'm just curious if your crush applies to the other guy as well."

Max turned to gaze out the window as the mood assumed a new tone. "I know you are," she replied softly, then turned to me with a timid smile.

* * *

**Thank you for the reviews. I had a feeling you all might have liked that last chapter. ;)**


	7. Venus Flytrap

**Venus Flytraps are carnivorous plants that eat their prey (insects usually) once the prey comes into contact with the "mouth" of the plant. Feel free to search them to see what they look like. (We will be going back a few months at one point in this chapter, and I note where that happens for clarity.)**

* * *

"Hey, I'll see you tomorrow - how's your side, by the way?"

"Getting better."

"That's good. We're going to have to get you some training wheels soon, Max."

"I know. Leave it to me to become a klutz. Later, Lyd."

Her arm held her torso once she was out of sight, around the corner and bound for the elevator.

Once the doors dragged closed and she was alone, she exhaled the breath she had been holding captive. But it came out in erratic gasps, and she was suddenly at a loss for air. She pressed a hand to the cold metal wall of the elevator. She had just gotten the hang of this breathing while nursing a cracked rib thing that morning - why was it suddenly not working?

Fifteenth floor, tenth, seventh.

The ride was slowing, but the jerking of gravity was making the pain worse.

And then, the doors opened. Seeing no one waiting to get on, she remained there, inside the elevator, for a moment, propped against the far wall. She winced, steadying her uneven breathing.

That's right, the key was to breathe very shallow breaths. How had she forgotten? It wasn't as though it was her first time getting the hang of it…

With her keycard in hand, she left the elevator and walked into the emptying garage of the office building. Once in the comfort of her maroon convertible, which was warmed by the evening sunlight, she tapped on the radio and passed the "Jemison Tower" entrance sign.

There was no solace on her favorite radio station. Some forlorn girl was singing about an unfaithful relationship in which she was the offender.

She didn't bother to shut it off, though, while steering home with one hand, allowing the gusting wind to tangle her hair. Part of her wanted to hear how the song ended, but the fact that lifting her right arm would send her side into agony was the likeliest cause for letting it play.

Marigold Avenue. The thickly tree-lined street was colorful with its homey white fences, impeccably trimmed hedges and cheerful flowers. Children were playing in the front yards, husbands mowed the lawns.

"Oh, Ms. Gibson, Ms. Gibson!" someone was chirping when Max brought her car to a stop in the empty driveway.

She stepped out of her car, only to be greeted by a well put-together woman in her mid thirties, toting a wailing toddler in her arms.

Mrs. Jimenez. She had been very kind in helping Max get adjusted in the neighborhood, although she had an affinity for prodding.

"Hello, Mrs. Jimenez. How are you?"

"Oh just fine. But I'm so glad you're back because I noticed something earlier today that was of some concern to me," the neighbor replied with no hesitation.

"When do you _not_ notice anything?" Max spoke in her mind, but posted a curious smile. "Really?'

"It was at about noon, I was just getting back from the market and the doctor for Alyssa's usual checkup, when I noticed a car in your driveway."

"Oh, that was probably my boyfriend," Max explained with a brief wave of her hand, angling her body toward the walkway to her front door.

"Oh but he didn't look like the man I usually see here," pardoned Mrs. Jimenez.

Max paused, her face now showing slight concern. "Oh?" She chewed her lip. "Well, it was probably just someone interested in the house," she assured, more to herself than the other woman.

"Maybe so," smiled Mrs. Jimenez, despite the toddler, who was now screeching and clawing at the mother's pearl necklace. "Well, I guess I should be going. We'll have to catch up and do lunch sometime!" She said for what Max was sure to be the fiftieth time since she had moved in, and walked off with toddler in tow.

Max swished her keycard through the lock of the bright orange front door, then stepped into the colorless, immaculate universe that was home. She breathed in for a moment, standing against the closed front door, attempting to test her level of pain.

After a prolonged grimace, she opened her eyes and moved ahead, into the hallway, then the den. The cascading sunlight through the uncovered windows reflected from the white walls, ceiling, floors and furniture to explode into an aura of ethereal radiance. It was beautiful.

But Max's stomach turned as she paced across the floor. She went into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water. The refrigerator (white) held only bottles of water, fruit and vegetables. Not a single sack or morsel of junk food occupied one inch of the space.

Max strolled with her glass in hand, filled with cold transparent liquid, back into the den. She was about to walk around to the white leather sofa, but halted when she saw who had beaten her to the punch.

He was asleep.

She didn't leave immediately, but watched him, swallowing the water in her mouth and lowering the glass from her lips. His dark brown hair was still perfectly combed on his head, resting on the armrest. He was in his suit, but had removed the black jacket. The sleeves of his undershirt were unbuttoned, revealing partially the defined muscles in his arms.

She could no longer see the gaunt, blue-haired emo kid who got shoved around by jocks like Nelson Nash. She did _remember_ that incarnation of him, and she also remembered how this new one had managed to swipe her affections…to some degree.

She walked silently away. She didn't want to wake him.

Max didn't know why she had fallen for him to _any_ degree.

* * *

_**Four months prior**_

Lunch was a disaster. All of the orders wrong. And the employees in the research department, exhausted from a long morning of computer development, were shuffling through the bags in the center of the conference table, trying to make sense of the madness.

Max managed to swipe some sort of sandwich close to her order of a Philly cheesesteak, but groaned when she unwrapped the plastic and tipped open the bread with a finger.

"I'm not a big vegetarian fan either," someone sighed from her left.

Max turned with a laugh. "Well, it _is _food, I guess."

Lydia Jemison's brown eyes rolled. "Just not the terribly-bad-for-your-cholesterol food we asked for."

"Give Marceea a break, Lyd," Max said teasingly as they squeezed through the crowd at the table, moving toward the row of seats on the wall of the conference room.

"Yeah, her first offer _ever_ to get lunch must've been unbearable for her - imagine how gut-wrenching it must've been for her to be away from Mr. Owens."

Max snickered as they took their seats against the window overlooking Gotham City. Wayne Tower could be spotted easily, only a few blocks away, as it was the tallest building.

"Enjoying your sandwiches?"

Max and Lydia looked up.

Lydia answered first. "Tastes great, Mr. Owens!" she said with a smile.

Young Harrison Owens, president of research, chuckled as he approached with his freshly opened box-lunch in hand. He eyed Max's sandwich. "Hey, I'll trade with you, Max. I changed my mind on mine."

"I'm game. What have you got?" Max returned, craning her neck to see what was in his hands.

Harrison showed his sandwich: a perfectly dressed Philly cheesesteak.

"_Of course_ Marceea gets _his_ order spot-on," Lydia muttered over to Max.

Max laughed. "That looks great," she said to Harrison. "Are you sure you don't want it?"

Harrison shrugged, smiling easily at Max. "I'm sure."

"That was nice of him," Max commented once the president had ambled off to eat alone in his office (as he usually did).

"Yeah. It's pretty shway we have a good supervisor. I'm so glad you convinced me to get this internship. It's _so_ much better than that stuffy library job I almost took."

"Told ya' so," Max noted while munching on the gooey sandwich, trying not to allow too many crumbs to rain on her gray pencil skirt. "I'm just hoping I can get this portfolio completed _and_ somehow study for finals so I can graduate."

Lydia sent her an encouraging grin. "You'll make it."

"You're just saying that because you've still got one more year to go," Max poked at her friend, who was still working on her degree.

Lydia chuckled, shrugging. "Maybe. But at least you've got good study groups. None of my classmates seem to get the concept of _group study_," she spoke the words with emphasis, briefly releasing her sandwich to use air quotes.

"Well, that's true," Max admitted, then scrunched her brow in consideration. "But Terry always wants to go eat instead of studying lately."

"As if you don't know why that is…"

"Lydia, c'mon," Max said with a sigh, but she was battling a smile.

"Why do you think he chose the same major as you?" she asked with raised eyebrows before lifting her soda to her lips.

Max's brown eyes rolled. She cleared her throat. "Because he likes computers," she answered indifferently, but her gaze out the window, away from her friend, was one of ambivalence. She combed the strand of pink hair that had dropped suddenly into her wrapper of food.

"How attractive is this? I have cheese in my hair!" Max laughed. "I'll be right back. I'm going to go rinse this out."

Lydia grinned. "Okay."

* * *

The elevator music was louder in the bathroom off of the reception area of the research floor. Although the music might easily be classified as corny, Max had always enjoyed it. While squeezing the water from her hair with a paper towel before the mirror, she recognized the tune to be an instrumental, jazzed up version of a song she and Terry had heard on the radio just a few weeks prior. They had been riding home from school when Terry had suddenly upped the volume and proceeded to belt the lyrics.

Max giggled to herself in the empty, luxurious bathroom. She and Terry had been spending more time together than the usual study sessions in the student lounge or library, since they were painting and decorating the house she had just bought.

Now graduation was steadily nearing, and she wondered if she would see him as much as she was now… Secretly, she almost wished the house would never be completed, so that she and Terry could have their weekends of painting and decorating together for always.

Max tossed the paper towel, then left the bathroom, straightening her black, fitted sleeveless vest. Her high heels reverberated on the marble floor. She was approaching the gigantic, golden secretary's reception desk, where the words "Jemison Department of Research and Development" were posted in jumbo lettering beneath a soft light. The desk was empty, since Marceea, the secretary, was still eating lunch with the others in the conference room.

Max breathed a gentle sigh and tucked a lock of her pink hair behind her ear. But soon she began to hear a rhythm beneath her footsteps, another pair between the "clack" of her heels. The hallway intersected at a "T" where the reception desk sat, and when Max reached it, a man appeared from around one corner.

"Excuse me, but is Mr. Jemison in? I'm here at his request to see me."

Max paused. "Oh, yes. Of course. Do you have an appointment?"

The man smiled somewhat sheepishly. "I _did_…about ten minutes ago. I'm new here and got lost on the wrong floor."

Max smiled, then hesitated. She _could_ go summon Marceea to come do her job, but the two didn't exactly get along very well, and Max didn't feel like facing the woman's griping for yanking her away from lunch (and Harrison Owens). "Here, I'll show you up to his office." She offered with a hand gesture as she walked toward the elevators.

"Thank you." He smiled in appreciation, walking alongside her.

As they strolled down the hallway, closer to the pair of elevators, Max noted in the corner of her eye his briefcase. She silently wondered who he could be. When she had looked him in the eye back at the desk, a prodding familiarity had struck her. She felt she was supposed to know who he was. But something was different about him - that is, he didn't look exactly like whomever her memory was attempting to compare him to. He was brown-haired, tall, broad-shouldered, handsome and keen-eyed. Even so, there was a weariness, an aged sort of look on his face which made him appear older than he might have been - a slight darkness beneath the eyes.

The elevator ride was just as silent as the walk there, if not more so without the corny music.

"It's really nice here."

Max turned slightly when he spoke. She nodded quickly. "It is."

He chuckled quietly. "I got quite the tour because of my misdirection."

Max smiled.

In the mirrored walls and doors, plated in gold, they could see their reflections gazing back at them...and at one another. Max tried to keep her eyes down.

Thirty-one, thirty-two…she found herself counting the numbers as they soared higher into the hundred-something floor tower. Mr. Jemison was at the very top, of course.

The man seemed to be about to say something else for casual conversation's sake, but the elevator glided to a stop on the ninety-ninth floor to pick someone up. The "someone" turned out to be a chatty pair of office workers, male and female. They ignored Max and the guest as they trekked on board, resuming their conversation with no stops in-between. After hearing complaints about the publishing company Jemison owned for fifteen floors, the noisy two finally alighted on the one hundred fourteenth floor.

All was silent again.

Max cleared her throat.

"Do you usually ride this high?" the man asked as they passed the one hundred twenties.

"Not very often, no," she answered truthfully. She clasped her hands before her. "Um…is this your first time meeting Mr. Jemison?"

He glanced over. "In person, yes."

Max nodded. "He's a nice man."

He smiled with a nod, straightening the navy blue tie of his black suit.

Finally, the one hundred-fiftieth floor.

The doors slid open with a soft note of arrival, and they stepped off.

"This is the executive floor," Max explained. "If you go down this hallway and then make a left, you'll run right into Mr. Jemison's secretary's desk."

The man smiled. "Thank you very much," he said, then paused before extending his hand. "You've been a huge help."

Max grinned as she shook his hand. "You're welcome. Good luck."

He smiled again, then turned to walk down the long hallway.

When Max was back on the elevator, one finger depressing the button for her floor, she barely spotted his head turning to look back at her as the doors were shut.

Once she was alone and on her way back down to her department, she realized a white piece of paper beneath her shoe, on the floor of the elevator. She frowned while stooping to pick it up.

A business card, _his_ business card; no one else had been on the elevator since their stop. It must have fallen out of his brief case.

Max turned the glossy card over in her fingers.

"Donny Grasso," read the name.

* * *

**Thank you for the reviews! It's so nice to see this is still being read. **

**I apologize for that long break between chapters. Another semester of college just started, so I've been writing papers and all of that wonderfulness. But I knew I needed to get this posted! And I enjoyed writing this. It's a good getaway from school. ;)**

**Oh, and I _highly_ recommend watching the "Hooked Up" episode I'm using as the backdrop for this fic. If you search "batman beyond hooked up" on youtube, you will find the episode in two parts in the results. Should be at the very top of the page as the first result. It might help explain where I'm getting some of this material from. Enjoy!**


	8. Poison Ivy

**Once you touch poison ivy, its effect is left on your skin.**

* * *

Poison Ivy

*

The door was open. The pathway was clear, unobstructed. But she couldn't leave. The walls were closing in, like a deathtrap with spears protruding to stab its occupant to be left bleeding until dead. Max was trapped. Batman's silhouette appeared through the fog this time, but she didn't call out to him. She let him walk by, not letting him see her trembling form as she hid, awaiting her fate. She didn't cry out. She let him go. And then, the path closed, dark shrubbery swallowed the once open doorway. A muscle-ripped hand emerged through the darkness, clenching her neck between its fingers. Unrelenting, it squeezed, until she was gasping for air.

Max was jolted awake, shuttled back to consciousness by her own shout. She sat up, slapping a hand to her chest. Her pulse was hammering, her heartbeat thumping so much that it almost hurt. And her ribcage was _still _in agony.

Searing pain blinded her vision for a moment, both psychological and physical. She looked around her. She was in her bed, the room was dark. Max rose, not touching the light switch. By memory, she walked along to the door, feeling the walls as she moved. Her bedroom was just off of the den. Outside, she found him, still on the sofa, channel-surfing on her TV with a deadened sort of look on his face. It was evening now, and the all-white room had assumed the blue hue from the TV's glow.

Max remembered when Terry used to do that, but only for a moment. She turned to go back into her room.

"About time you got up. I've been sitting here starving half to death for hours."

Max paused with her palm pressed to the door, her back turned.

She didn't linger for long before she changed direction and walked dutifully to the kitchen. She dropped the steak into the skillet, watching it pop and sizzle. The aroma wafted up her nose, and her stomach sawed in half with yearning.

The channel surfing seemed to have paused on a loud network, and she guessed it to be his favorite wrestling program. She turned from the stove to fetch some sauce from the fridge, leaving it open as she returned to marinade the meat. But when she went back to put the jar away, he was suddenly there, rummaging through the drawers of the refrigerator. He straightened and nudged the door closed with his foot, clutching a sack of bread in one hand and salami in the other.

"I _do _get sick of the usual steak sometimes, you know," he muttered while tossing the meat and bread onto the counter, then proceeding to brush past Max to the skillet. With one hand, he picked up the pan, extended it over the trash can, and dumped the almost finished steak.

Max watched the entire display, stone-faced. Part of her wanted to bend over, into the trash, salvage the meat and devour it. After all, she would only be eating the usual salad and fruit (_if _she was lucky).

He stalked back into the den, but not before grasping a secret stash of junk food he kept hidden in her kitchen.

Max sighed dryly once he was gone. She reached for the salami and began to prepare his favorite sandwich.

She never had mastered guessing what he wanted for dinner, but tonight her ribcage was apt to remind her to try harder from now on.

* * *

_**Three Months Prior **_

"Good meeting?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"You don't sound too enthusiastic."

Max smiled at Lydia's skepticism.

"Oh I don't know… I just…feel kind of stupid, or maybe offended. Embarrassed?" Max was chuckling now, but she settled into a distracted sigh.

Lydia nodded knowingly. "Still hasn't shown any signs of recognition yet, has he?"

"No, and I really wish it wouldn't bother me. I shouldn't be preoccupied with this."

Lydia pressed the down elevator button as she and Max arrived at a stop in the office hallway.

"Well, he was _only _someone you went to high school with and were pretty good friends with."

Max smirked just a little. "Yeah." She sighed. "He remembered _you_, though, didn't he?"

"Um…" Lydia tilted her head in thought. "No, I think he just remembers names quickly."

"Oh." Max's tone was dim as they strode into the elevator. She folded her arms over her purse, pressed against her stomach.

The elevator began to descend, and Lydia yawned.

"Am I really _that_ forgettable?" Max inquired suddenly. "I mean, I'm not trying to dwell on this so much but I just--"

"Max, I wouldn't even worry about it. If the guy wants to be a jerk and act as though he never knew you, then that's _his _problem," Lydia encouraged, tapping one heel on the marble floor. "He always struck me as a bit of a loner in high school, and even now. You know, the whole 'I'm too good for normal people's company' emo kid style."

"I guess," Max agreed softly, tracing her index finger down a crease in the elevator wall. "But we _were _friends. I mean, I had met his family and all. I felt like he trusted me. Some of the girls thought I was 'unschway' to even be talking to him…especially Blade."

At this, Lydia let out a giggle, which caused Max to laugh as well.

"I'll let it go," Max sighed, combing her fingers through her pink hair to ruffle it some. "You're right. If he wants to pretend he never knew me, then two can play at that game."

The elevator halted, and out the doors the two went, into the parking garage.

"Such a shame, though," Lydia was musing as they approached her car.

Max glanced over, frowning. "What is?"

Lydia shrugged while removing her keycard from her purse. "Another punk-turned-jerk via gym membership and a hairstylist."

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" Max returned cynically, smirking again.

"_Oh_ yeah. Can we say 'Willie Watt'?"

Lydia slid into her car, waving goodbye to Max before she drove off.

Max continued to her own convertible, parked several spaces away. She was only a few paces from her car, eyes down on the gray pavement, when she heard a sound from up ahead.

"Ms. Gibson, is it?"

Max's gaze trailed up. Donny Grasso, in the flesh, was waiting near her car.

"Oh," she said quickly, surprised. "Yes - Max; Max is fine."

"Hi, Max," he replied with a disarming smile. "I'm glad I caught up with you."

It was then that Max noticed he was leaning against the car beside hers, a sleek red sports model - just a few hues brighter than her own maroon car.

"I wanted to ask you a question, and I hope you won't think I'm crazy."

Max, who was thoroughly confused now, merely shrugged with a short laugh. She didn't know _what_ to make of him now, standing here asking what her first name was. She couldn't help but feel slightly offended, but she decided to hear him out.

"Shoot."

Donny chuckled, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I was wondering if…" he lifted his shoulders and laughed lightly. "Either way, you'll think I'm nuts, or maybe just a jerk. I'm not sure which is worse," he was rambling now. "Did we go to high school together?" he finally spilled, sounding unsure.

Max's eyebrows lifted after a stunned delay. She was beginning to wonder if there was a hidden camera set up somewhere now, as well as beginning to think twice about not letting him have it from the beginning of their conversation.

Donny, seeing the bewildered expression on her face, swiftly spoke up.

"I had an accident when I was a high school senior and I can't really remember everyone from that time. A lot of times I can place names and faces, but I can't always put them together."

And then it all made perfect sense, to Max. The VR Room incident, Spellbinder's machine. Donny had practically disappeared from school after the ordeal. Rumors circulated that he had left town. But Max hadn't considered his former VR addiction as being associated with his disregard for her. Obviously he'd had a tougher time than she had.

She sucked in a deep breath. "Oh… Yes, we did go to school together," she spoke gently, suddenly feeling ashamed of her thoughts of him from moments earlier. "We were friends, actually."

Donny's jaw dropped. He puffed a sigh while dragging his hands through his hair. "Oh no. You must really think terribly of me. I mean, I've been here for a whole week and I never said anything and…" his voice drifted, he offered an apologetic smile. "To think I didn't even recognize you that day when you showed me to Mr. Jemison's office."

Max grinned. "It's okay, really. I understand."

"Seriously?" He looked doubtful.

Max chuckled. "Well, I _was _a little…confused," she swerved away from the fact that she had actually been quite offended. "But I understand."

Donny smiled in appreciation. "Thanks, Max. We'll have to catch up and reminisce sometime."

"Sure. Wouldn't exactly be too tough to accomplish, either, what with you getting along so well with Mr. Jemison," she noted with sincerity.

"You think so? I just hope he doesn't think I'm trying too hard."

"Well, if it gives you any relief, I liked your idea," Max began slowly. "I've always thought Jemison needed a program that was exclusively for mental health research."

"Really?" Donny asked with a smile.

Max nodded.

Donny chewed his lip after staring at her for a moment. "Sorry, I'm totally keeping you. I didn't mean to take up your time."

Max laughed gently. "Not really. I'm parked right here," she said while gesturing to her car beside his.

Donny stood up straighter, smiling. "Oh, okay. Look how that worked out!"

"Is yours a 2042?" Max asked while eyeing his ride.

"It is," he hesitated. "2039?" he asked about her car.

Max nodded, smiling sheepishly. "Yeah, it's kind of my gift to myself for surviving grad school. It was the car I always wanted in high school."

"Awesome. I almost got that model myself."

The usual pesky awkward pause arrived, lingering until Max cleared her throat. "Well, have a good rest of the day."

"Oh, thanks. You as well, Max. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow" blossomed into the next day, the day after that, and the rest of the week. And by the time Max was soon to graduate, her friendship with Donny had been restored.

* * *

"Any particular reason why this is the umpteenth cup of coffee you've had for the day?"

"You noticed?"

Max chuckled. "I counted."

Donny sighed blithely as he opened his wallet for creds to pay for the dinner.

"And don't tell me it's that presentation tomorrow. You've moved up to being sales manager. No need to get into Mr. Jemison's good graces or anything," she said with playful sarcasm.

Donny laughed off Max's flattery after passing the cred through the card-reader the waiter had just left behind.

"Well, to be honest, work isn't what's got me so nervous," he responded with an enigmatic grin. "Ready to go?"

Max didn't answer at once, still trying to ascertain his statement. She nodded. "Yeah, I'm stuffed," she said with a light yawn, pushing away her once-full plate of baked salmon.

Donny and Max left the low-key restaurant, stepping out into the nearly empty parking lot.

"It's late," Max noted while breathing in the refreshing suburban air. They weren't far from where she had just moved in to her cottage on Marigold Avenue. Max had suggested dinner at a local eatery to finish off a busy workday.

"Good thing it's the weekend," Donny added as they walked first to Max's car, which was waiting beside his.

"Yeah…"

"Got plans tomorrow?" Donny asked with a glance over.

"Just graduation."

Donny blinked, stunned by the revelation. "Max, that's great! I didn't realize it was coming up so soon," he paused with a mildly accusatory smirk. "And you neglected to tell me."

Max offered a coy smile. "Yeah, I know. But it's all so…mediocre, compared with work. And I'm sure you've got millions of more important things to do…"

"Am I sensing that I'm invited?"

Max looked innocently skeptical for a moment. "Do you want to come?"

Donny only laughed before opening Max's car door for her and closing it behind her once she was inside.

He followed her home in his own car, stepping out to meet her in the driveway once they had arrived.

"I guess it _is_ a little weird to be 'driving you home' in two separate cars," Donny chuckled while strolling up to where Max was standing beneath the street lamppost.

Max laughed. "But it's gentlemanly," she pointed out, then cleared her throat. "And I do appreciate it."

Donny studied her face for a moment, the clueless, habitually friendly smile. She was comfortable around him. He liked that.

Donny sighed, lowering his head to stare at the concrete edge between the grassy lawn and cobblestone path.

"You know, I really wish you wouldn't have to ask if I _want_ to come to your graduation," he began quietly. "I guess I just haven't made myself clear enough yet."

"What do you mean?" Max tilted her head in confusion.

Donny tugged his hands through his glossy brown hair, lifting his eyes to hers.

"I mean that I've always liked you, Max. Before, in high school, you were the only girl to give me a second glance or acknowledge that I was alive. And now, even after I've come back only to act like a jerk by not remembering you at first…here you are, still so friendly to me." He leaned a shoulder against the lamppost, shrugging as he gazed around the serene surroundings of the neighborhood, his eyes finally locking onto her. "You've got to know how crazy that can make me feel…how much I want to be more than just someone you're willing to befriend."

Max pulled her hair over her shoulder, trying to allow his words to sink in and figure out how to handle them. "I never befriended you out of pity, Donny. I know what other people said - about you, about me for reaching out to you… But I'm not the biggest fan of listening to general opinion."

"Honestly, I don't really care _why _you were there, just that you were at all," Donny was laughing, temporarily lifting the mood.

The unanswered question remained suspended, blending with the casual singing of crickets and the calm night gusts.

Donny scooped up the conversation, shrugging his shoulders once more.

"I had a lot of issues back then. I changed myself, my look, to get away from it all and to be taken more seriously," revealed, both of them knowing all too well what "it" he was referring to. "And when I got out of the correctional school my parents put me in, I went right into college. I've been working my way to the top since. But Max," he hesitated, "when I saw you again, when I remembered who you were and it all came back to me…it was kind of like a reality check," he explained. "And I have to say I don't honestly feel all that different from the blue-haired, anti-social kid - standing with you now."

"But that's okay," Max supplied quicker and with more emphasis than she was meaning to. "I mean, that's what I was trying to say…that those things don't matter to me. The superficial things…while even they themselves possess uniqueness and beauty. What's wrong with some blue hair?" Max laughed disarmingly.

Donny smiled slowly, sliding his hands into his pockets as he looked upon her with a bit of awe.

"And that's why I'm asking if there's enough luck floating around in this harsh world for me to be with you, as more than a friend," he spoke softly, just loudly enough to be heard.

Max's eyes slid away from his yearning face. As fortuitously sweet as this moment with Donny was, she wasn't unwise enough to overlook the potential explosion beneath the hardened layers of high school drama. Though a perfectly sensitive, kind, caring and attractive man stood before her, baring his soul and asking for her to be his, her thoughts were on someone else. For her, there was no denying that.

Donny, seeing the cloud that suddenly masked Max's usually expressive eyes, dipped his head with a dejected sort of smile. "But perhaps my luck has run out...this time."

**

* * *

**

**Thank you for the reviews! I've been trying to finish this chapter for a long time. I've just been so busy with school and other things, but I try to write whenever I have the energy and spare time. Makes for some slow writing, though. I cannot believe people are still interested in this story! Thank you. **

**(About the ending of the last chapter - I know I'm known for being a suspense/action/thriller romance writer, and you'll find that in high-intensity stories like the Guardian Angel ****series I wrote, I had plenty of in-your-face cliffhangers to close out chapters. But (for this piece especially) it's not my desire to write in that same manner. The plot of this story is much more subtle than GA's, and it's one where I'll disclose information little by little, until it climaxes and you're all fully aware of what's going on. In some ways, you could ****think of this story as more of a mystery.)**

**I'll be back soon with more! And yes, I'll be returning to Terry's POV some more in this story.**


End file.
